


your heart is a muscle

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Castiel and Jimmy Novak are Twins, Established Relationship, Fandom Trumps Hate, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Character Death, background claire novak/kaia nieves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 13:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16265579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: They've been together for almost a year now, and things are good. Better than good, really. Dean's even thinking about asking Cas to move in with him. But when tragedy strikes at the heart of Cas' family, all of Dean's tentative hopes are thrown into disarray, and the future of their relationship is suddenly a lot less certain.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VioletHaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHaze/gifts).



> As you can see from the summary and tags, this is a breaking up and getting back together story. I feel I should warn you there’s a fair stretch of time, story-wise, between the two. I promise a happy ending, but it takes a little while to get there, and it's not an easy road.
> 
> This is a gift for VioletHaze, who bid on me for the Fandom Trumps Hate auction. Thank you so much for your patience while I took forever to get started, finished one 20k fic, and then announced I hated it and was starting over. Thank you for trusting me with this. Thank you also to Anna, as always, for reading this over for me, and to Diamond for some excellent suggestions, particularly with regard to casting.

Dean climbs into the car, loosening the bow tie from around his neck and tossing it carelessly into the backseat. He has a red wine stain on the sleeve of his formerly-pristine white shirt, there’s something sticky on the bottom of his shoe, and he’s pretty sure he has cocoa dust embedded under his nails.

All in all, another successful night for Winchester Catering. 

His phone chimes from the pocket of his coat. Dean smiles to himself as he reads the message from Cas, asking if he feels up to coming over. _See you in ten,_ Dean sends back. After a long night on his feet ensuring that the employees of one of Seattle’s biggest accounting firms were well-fed and well-liquored, there’s nothing he wants more than to curl up with his boyfriend and watch some bad TV. 

It’s a short drive to Cas’ apartment, and soon enough he’s climbing the stairs to the third floor of the low-rise building, his weariness falling away with every step. Cas’ door swings open before Dean even has to knock, and his smile is the most beautiful thing Dean has seen all night (which is saying a lot, considering the outfits some of the guests had been wearing.)

“Hello, Dean.” Cas leans up and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “You smell like-- marinara?”

“Sorry.” Dean crinkles his nose and pulls off his jacket, hanging it neatly on the hook beside the door. “Guess I should have stopped off at home and cleaned up before coming over.”

Cas raises one eyebrow and lets his eyes travel from the top of Dean’s head to his feet, his gaze like a caress. “I have a perfectly good shower,” he says, his faux-casual tone not fooling Dean for a second.

Within minutes, Dean’s suit is in a crumpled pile on the floor in Cas’ hallway, and they’re pressed together under the warm spray of Cas’ shower. “Turn around,” Cas instructs. He squeezes shampoo into his hands and tilts Dean’s head towards him, lathering it up and gently massaging Dean’s head as he runs it through his hair. Dean groans and willingly submits to Cas’ ministrations, then insists on returning the favour. Of course, this turns into hands roaming all over each other’s bodies, soft gasps hidden under the noise of the water, luxurious kisses and sweetly murmured words bringing them both to release that is quickly washed away down the drain. 

By the time they climb out of the shower, the water has run cold. Cas wraps a towel around his hips and tosses another one at Dean, then struts off towards the bedroom. Dean watches him go, distracted by a drop of water coursing its way down the strong muscles of his back, and then follows after.

“So, how was the party?” Cas asks once they’re settled on the couch with steaming mugs of decaf coffee in front of them. 

“Not as good as last year’s.” Dean winks, and Cas blushes, visible even in the low light from the TV.

They first met at this exact firm’s party the year before. Cas had been working for them at the time, before he left for the smaller though no less prestigious he works with now. Dean had immediately noted those striking blue eyes and the breadth of his shoulders beneath his ludicrously expensive suit jacket, but he has a strict no flirtation policy when working. He can’t complain about having attractive, well-dressed people to look at while he’s at an event, but he is a professional, after all.

About a week later, they’d run into each other at a coffee shop. Cas had blinked at him, frowned, and stared while Dean waited for his order, then eventually worked up the nerve to come over and say hello. Dean had recognized him after a minute of confusion, and silently thanked the universe for putting Cas back in his sights in a non-work setting. The rest, as they say, is history. 

“Did Zachariah make another speech about the glorious future of the company that made him sound like a Bond villain?”

“You bet he did.” Dean shakes his head, remembering the speech. “I managed to be standing near Balth when he was talking, so we got to roll our eyes at each other plenty. He says hello, by the way.”

“Mmn.” Cas sighs and presses himself closer to Dean’s side. “I should call him soon. Considering he’s the only person from that firm I still keep in touch with, I should be better about it.”

“It’s busy for all of you,” Dean assures him. “I’m sure he understands.”

Cas hums again, but doesn’t reply. Dean cards his fingers through Cas’ dark hair, still damp from the shower, swooping it up into a peak and then flattening it again. Cas grumbles at him, batting his hands away, but softens the gesture by trapping Dean’s hand in his own and cradling it to his chest. 

One of those terrible dating shows is playing on the TV, but Dean isn’t paying it any attention. He’s thinking about how good it feels to come right into Cas’ arms after a long day at work, how nice it is to close out the day like this, cuddled up together on Cas’ incredibly comfortable couch. They’ve been together for almost a year now, and they spend almost all their time going back and forth between each other’s apartments. Frankly, Dean is getting tired of it. He wants to spend every night with Cas, just like this. 

“Hey, Cas?” he starts, voice pitched low.

“Mmn?” Cas lifts his head to look up at him, tilting it to the side in that familiar, endearing way. “Yeah?”

Dean takes a deep breath, but before he can continue, they’re interrupted by the ring of Cas’ phone.

“Damn it,” Cas curses. He disentangles himself from Dean’s arms and sits up to grab his phone off the side table. “Hello?”

There’s a muffled voice from the other end of the line, but Dean can’t make out the words. He isn’t trying to listen in, but when he glances over and sees the expression on Cas’ face, he jolts forward, a sick feeling creeping into his stomach.

“Yes, I understand. Yes, of course.” Cas’ voice is flat, the tone he only takes when dealing with his most difficult clients. “Thank you for letting me know.”

He ends the call and drops the phone onto his lap, staring straight ahead. “Cas?” Dean ventures after a moment of silence. “Babe, what is it?”

Slowly, Cas turns to face him, misery deepening the lines around his eyes and pulling at the corners of his mouth. “There was an accident.”

Dean’s heart clenches in his chest. “Cas--”

“A drunk driver hit Jimmy and Amelia as they were coming home from a friend’s house.” Cas pauses, swallowing visibly. Dean wants to reach out for him, but something about his posture stops him. “Jimmy has a broken wrist and a few scrapes and bruises, but is otherwise fine. Amelia--” he trails off, eyes slipping closed, and Dean knows with terrible certainty that she’s gone.

“Cas--” he says again, but Cas is already getting to his feet, pushing past Dean and into the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

Dean lets out a shuddering exhale, tipping his head back to rest against the couch cushions. He’s never met any of Cas’ family, who all live in Illinois, but he knows Cas and and his twin brother Jimmy are close. He’s never heard Cas say anything but good things about Amelia, either. Dean is struck by a wave of intense grief for a woman he doesn’t even know. God, they have a sixteen-year old daughter, Claire. 

Losing a parent at that age is something Dean knows all too much about. 

He can’t hear anything from the bathroom, and while he wants to go after Cas, he also wants to respect his need for privacy at this difficult time. So instead, Dean grabs the laptop charging on the coffee table and starts looking up flights. Cas will want to be with his brother as quickly as possible.

The prices are steep, but Dean doesn’t think twice before pulling out his credit card and confirming a reservation for Cas on the seven o’clock flight from Seattle to Chicago. He almost books two tickets, but he figures he should probably talk to Cas before making that decision.

Getting to his feet, Dean crosses the short distance to the closed bathroom door and knocks lightly against it. “Cas?” he calls softly. “Can I come in?”

There’s no answer, so he slowly pushes the door open. Cas is sitting on the ground, his back braced against the bathtub, head buried in his hands. Dean swallows roughly and sinks to the ground beside him, close enough to touch, but makes no move to do so. 

After a moment, Cas lets out a shuddering exhale and raises his head to look at Dean. His eyes are swollen with tears, their usually bright blue gone dark and dim. He opens his mouth, but no words emerge. 

“I’m so sorry, Cas.” Dean knows the words are far from adequate, but they’re all he has. “What do you need? Tell me what you need.”

Another tear courses its way down Cas’ cheek, and with a violent sob, he turns his head to the side and buries it against Dean’s shoulder. Dean’s arms close around him immediately, holding him tightly as he cries.

Eventually, he stops shaking. Raising his head again, he sniffles once and scrubs the back of his hand across his face. “I need to go to him.”

“I know.” Dean keeps his arms steady around him. “I booked you on the first flight out tomorrow morning.”

Cas blinks away the last of his tears. “You-- Dean, thank you.”

“It’s at seven.” Glancing down at his watch, Dean winces. It’s already after midnight. “Let’s get you to bed, and I’ll pack you a bag. I’ll come back and drive you to the airport in the morning.”

Before he even finishes speaking, Cas is shaking his head. “No,” he says, and Dean’s heart sinks in his chest. But it isn’t about him. It’s about Cas and whatever he needs.

“No,” Cas says again. His voice is hoarse from his sobs. “Stay with me. Please, Dean.”

“Of course.” Dean leans over and presses a kiss to the top of Cas’ head, overcome by a wave of gratitude that he’s here, safe and warm in his arms. “Come on. This cold floor isn’t doing you any good.”

Uncharacteristically meek, Cas lets Dean pull him off the floor and guide him towards the bedroom. He strips down to his boxers and climbs under the covers, watching with bleary eyes as Dean locates the overnight bag in his closet and begins packing it with clothes and toiletries. Once Dean is finished, he does a quick tour of the apartment to make sure the door is locked and all the lights are off, then comes back to the bedroom. He sets an alarm for five o’clock and climbs into bed.

Cas immediately slides closer, turning on his side and presenting his back to Dean. Gathering him close, Dean presses a kiss to the back of his bare shoulder, right over the flowing script of his tattoo. Cas shivers at the touch and Dean tightens his arms around him, holding him as closely as he can. “Sleep,” he says softly. “I know it seems impossible, but you need to rest.”

“I know.” Cas’ voice is barely above a whisper. He goes silent for so long Dean thinks he’s fallen asleep, and then, “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

Cas turns to face him, the moonlight spilling in from the window illuminating the stark lines of his jaw and cheekbones. Christ, he’s gorgeous. “I love you. I wanted to say it now, because--”

“I know.” Dean lays a gentle hand on his cheek, running his thumb over it. “I love you too.”

They stay like that, facing one another, and Dean watches as Cas’ eyes slip closed, as his breathing evens out and his lips part softly in sleep. Only then does he allow his own eyes to close, hoping his presence is enough to keep Cas’ grief at bay, at least for the night.

***

They’re quiet in the morning, the apartment still dark as Dean brews a pot of coffee and scrambles some eggs. Cas makes a face at them and moves to push the plate away, but Dean stops him with a gentle hand on his arm. “You have to eat. Come on, sweetheart. I even made them with cheddar and jalapenos the way you like.”

Cas sighs, but picks up his fork and begins to eat. Mechanically, he finishes everything Dean puts in front of him, then scrapes his chair back from the table. “I need to email Anna and let her know I won’t be in for a few days.”

Dean nods and unplugs Cas’ phone from where it’s charging on the kitchen counter. “We should head out after that.”

Too busy typing his message, Cas doesn’t respond. Dean takes a moment to watch him, his dark head bowed over his phone. Even with his face hidden, Cas’ misery is evident in every line of his body. The ache in Dean’s chest threatens to overwhelm him, so he busies himself loading the dishwasher, grateful for anything to distract him from how useless he feels. 

There’s a gentle thud as Cas puts his phone down, audible only because the rest of the apartment is so quiet. “Will you collect the mail and water the plants while I’m gone?” Cas asks.

Dean turns back to him, already nodding. “Yeah, Cas. Of course.”

Cas holds his gaze, something Dean can’t identify in the depths of his eyes. He nods once, then looks away. “I think I’m ready to go.”

They climb into the Impala and set off for the airport. At this hour, traffic isn’t too bad, so they make good time. Dean sneaks glances across the car’s interior, but Cas stares straight out the window the entire time. Dean swallows heavily and tightens his hands on the wheel.

The airport is loud and bright and chaotic. It seems tasteless, somehow. Cas comes to an abrupt halt when they enter, his body radiating unease. Dean places a hand at the small of his back, steadying, and gently urges him forward. 

Once Cas is checked in and his boarding pass is printed, Dean hands him the bag he’d insisted on carrying up to this point. He clears his throat and lets out a noisy exhale. “Call me when you land, alright?”

Cas nods. “Okay.” His lips twitch like he’s about to say something else, but then he turns away towards the line for security.

His heart sinking in his chest, Dean watches him go.

Halfway across the expanse of shiny floor between them, Cas stops. He spins on his heel and comes marching back towards Dean, a determined expression on his face. Frowning, Dean opens his mouth to speak, but he’s cut off by Cas’ hands cupping his cheeks, Cas’ lips pressing insistently against his. Startled, it takes a second for Dean to respond, but then he pours himself into the kiss, heedless of the crowds of people around them. 

Cas is so warm against him, his big hands steady on Dean’s face as he finally pulls back after what feels like an eternity. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “Thank you, Dean. You’ve been so good to me.”

“Hey.” Dean reaches up and places his own hands over Cas’. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. If you need anything else, if you want me to fly out there--”

“You hate flying.”

“I do,” Dean agrees. “But I love you.”

Cas closes his eyes for a brief second, and when he opens them again, there’s a smile behind them. God, Dean loves that smile, the one that starts in his eyes and slowly spreads to his lips. “I love you too.”

Dean leans forward and gives him one last kiss. “I mean it, though. Whatever you need.”

Nodding, Cas lets his hands drop from Dean’s face. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

This time, when he walks away, he doesn’t look back.

Dean is distracted on the drive back into town. He almost misses the turn for his own apartment, finding himself heading back towards Cas’ by mistake. Cursing under his breath, he adjusts his course. He needs to take another shower, drink about a litre of coffee, and change clothes before heading to work.

Winchester Catering is, right after Sam and the Impala, Dean’s pride and joy. They started off doing lunches for local small businesses when Dean was fresh out of college with an English degree and pretty much nothing else. Thanks to a loan from his best friend Charlie, he managed to expand steadily over the years and now has a sizeable staff to go along with their state-of-the-art kitchen and office facilities. 

Feeding people has always been an important part of Dean’s life. After Mary Winchester died when he was only four, his father spent most of his time at work to keep the family afloat. Before long, Dean was learning to cook so he could have something ready when John got home. His efforts were always rewarded with a weary smile and a fond ruffle of his hair before they sat down to eat. It wasn’t always easy, but they did the best they could.

Dean pulls into his reserved spot in the lot behind the office and closes his eyes tightly, overcome by a sudden wave of grief. He and Sam lost their father nine years ago, when Dean was only twenty-three. John had been so proud of Winchester Catering’s growing success, beaming broadly every time Dean told him about a new client they’d acquired or a new recipe he’d perfected. Most of the time, the ache he feels when he thinks about his parents is manageable, but in light of Cas’ current situation, all the old pain comes rising back up.

Letting out a shaky breath, Dean pushes his hands through his hair and shakes his head. There’s nothing he can do now except wait for Cas to call. And in the meantime, he has a business to run.

“You look like crap,” Krissy says as he walks in. She raises one dark eyebrow as she looks him over. “Stayed up too late, old man?”

“Something like that.” Dean pauses by the reception desk, rifling through the papers there. Krissy seems to be waiting for an explanation, so he sighs and turns back to her. “Cas’ sister-in-law died in a car accident.”

“Oh.” Krissy’s face goes blank, and Dean winces. He should have been more tactful, considering Krissy’s own history. Like Dean, she’s already lost both parents, and she’s only nineteen. “Crap. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, kid.” He pats her shoulder and clears his throat. “We’ve got that new ride-share company thing tonight, right?”

Krissy nods. “Yeah. We’re pretty much good to go, but Benny isn’t quite satisfied with the gluten-free bread for the sandwiches, so he’s still fiddling with it.”

Of course he is. “I’ll check in on him,” he says. “Let me know right away if Cas calls, alright?”

She gives him a sharp salute. “You got it, boss.”

Leaving the reception area, Dean goes straight back to the kitchens rather than upstairs to his office. As always, the delicious aromas help calm him, though the clanging of metal indicates that someone is getting worked up about something or other. 

“Dean!” The shout comes from the far side of the kitchen, where Kevin is stretching huge sheets of phyllo pastry. “Can you give me a hand with this?”

“Yeah, sure.” Pausing only to wash his hands, Dean throws himself into the task, and between the two of them, they soon have the phyllo thin enough for use. He claps Kevin on the shoulder and circles over to the other side of the room to see what Patience is working on.

She’s one of the most aptly-named people Dean has ever met, meticulous and careful in everything she does. A recent obsession with The Great British Baking Show led her to discover a knack for baking, and her grandmother Missouri’s long-standing friendship with the Winchesters led to her finding a job here. She’s currently placing blueberries on top of a tray of petits-fours with her usual precision, and Dean doesn’t bother to interrupt her. 

He heads to the back corner, where the industrial ovens live, to check in on Benny instead. They’ve been friends since college, and Benny is hands-down the best baker Dean knows. The only reason he works with Dean instead of running his own bakery is because he hates dealing with paperwork, or so he says. Whatever the reason, Dean is grateful for it. 

“Heard the gluten-free batch was giving you some trouble.” Dean rests his hip against the counter and swipes a crust from the pieces that scatter the surface. He pops it into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “I think it’s pretty good.”

“Pretty good ain’t good enough, brother.” Benny crosses his arms over his chest and sighs. “But I’ve got one more batch in, and I’m hoping this is the one.”

“And all the other dietary restrictions are taken care of?”

Benny nods, ticking them off on his fingers. “We’ve got gluten-free, vegan, and nut-free options all ready.” 

“Great.” Their clients trust them to provide delicious, high-quality food no matter the restrictions, and Dean is always happy to rise to the occasion. “Pass me some of that jam, would you?”

The raspberry-cocoa jam is made exclusively for them by Garth and Bess Fitzgerald, who live outside the city and do wonderful things with fruit. Dean has tried making it from Bess’ recipe, but it never turns out the same. Benny reaches for the jar, but stops before passing it over to Dean. “You okay, Dean? It’s a bit early for you to be going for the sweet stuff.”

Dean gives him a wry look. There are hazards to working with people who know you so well. “Yeah, I’m fine. Well. Not really. Cas’ sister-in-law died last night, and I dropped him off the airport for the first flight to Chicago this morning.”

Benny’s heavy hand lands gently on Dean’s shoulder. “Sorry to hear that. How’s he holding up?”

“Not well,” Dean admits. “Cas and Jimmy are really close. Not surprising, being twins and all, but still. I’ve never seen him like this before, Benny.”

Shaking his head, Benny spreads jam on a slice of fresh bread and hands it to Dean. “He’ll be alright in time. Right now, he needs to be with his family.”

“I know that.” The jam tastes like ashes in Dean’s mouth. “I just keep feeling like there’s more I should be doing, somehow.”

“You do plenty,” Benny says firmly. “I know for a fact Cas is going to need you to lean on, and you’re going to be right there for him, just like you’re right there for everyone else. And you don’t love the rest of us the way you love that boy.”

Dean smiles despite himself. “I think Cas would take offense at being called a boy at the ripe old age of thirty-five, you know.”

“Probably,” Benny agrees. “So don’t tell him I said that, alright?”

“Alright.” Dean finishes the rest of his bread and jam, then pushes off from the counter. “I’m going to do some stuff upstairs. Yell if you need me to taste-test anything.”

Benny rolls his eyes. “I swear that’s the whole reason you started this company.”

“Only part of it.” Dean gives him a lazy wave, which Benny returns, then turns to leave. He trusts his team completely, and he knows they’ve got this well under control. If they need him down here, they won’t hesitate to ask. 

His office is neat and tidy, and Dean sinks into his chair with a sigh, pulling up his notes for tonight’s event on his computer. The company CEO had specifically requested they wear less formal outfits than usual, wanting a more casual vibe for the evening. Dean snorts to himself, but he isn’t about to complain about not having to wear the bowtie. He attends almost all their functions himself to make sure everything is running smoothly, and only two others will be joining him tonight, fewer than normal for them. 

It isn’t long before he’s lost in a chain of email replies and booking headaches, frantically trying to schedule as many events as possible without overreaching themselves. When a phone rings, he reaches for the office line before realizing it’s actually his cell that’s ringing. 

He looks down to see Cas’ name lit up on the screen and breathes a sigh of relief. “Hey, Cas,” he says, spinning away from his computer and giving the conversation all his attention. “How was the flight?”

“Fine. We made good time, at least. I’m on my way to the hospital now. Jimmy’s awake.” Cas’ voice cracks slightly, and Dean can’t tell if it’s from emotion or from a bad connection. “They just told him about Amelia. I need to be there as fast as I can.”

“I know you do,” Dean says. “How’s Claire?”

“Furious, from all accounts.” Cas sighs, and Dean can perfectly picture him pinching the bridge of his nose like he always does when he’s tired or exasperated. “I can’t say this is the way I wanted our first visit in three years to go.”

Dean winces. “Just remember that it’s not you she’s mad at, alright? Even if she acts like it sometimes.”

“I’ll try.” The line goes quiet for a minute, then Cas says, “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I miss you.”

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Dean says, “I miss you too.”

“I’m getting my rental car now. It’s going to be a bit chaotic after this.” Cas pauses for a moment. “I’ll try to call you when I can, but--”

“Hey,” Dean interrupts. “Don’t worry about it, okay? You just be there for Jimmy and Claire, and I’ll be here when you need me, alright?”

“Alright,” Cas says. “I should really go. God, Dean, what do I even say to him? He just lost his wife.”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to come up with some words of wisdom, but by the time he opens his mouth to speak, Cas has ended the call.

He leaves his cell on his desk, volume turned all the way up, but Cas doesn’t call back.

***

It’s been five days since Cas left for Chicago, and Dean is coming apart at the seams.

They’ve only talked once more since that call after Cas landed, on the day of Amelia’s funeral. Cas hadn’t had a lot of time, having snuck away to the bathroom to make the call. He told Dean that the service was beautiful, but Jimmy didn’t shed a single tear the entire time, just sat there silent and stone-faced, staring straight ahead. Claire had taken one look at Cas when he arrived and declared that she wanted her mom, not an identical copy of her dad, and barely spoken to him since. Cas had sounded so goddamn tired, so bone weary, and all Dean had wanted to do was hold him close and whisper nonsense into his ears until he fell asleep. 

Now, he’s looking over his schedule for the next week while flipping back and forth between airline websites, trying to decide what flight to take. It’s Sunday afternoon, and their next scheduled event isn’t until Tuesday. Even then, it’s a smaller party, and Dean trusts his team to handle it perfectly well even in his absence. 

His phone rings, startling him. Cas’ name appears on the screen, and Dean accepts the call immediately. “Cas?”

“Hi, Dean.” He sounds terrible. Dean winces and reaches out to grip the edge of the table with his free hand, steadying himself. “How are you?”

“Me? I’m fine. How are you?”

Cas laughs, though there’s little humour in it. “I thought we’d moved past you deflecting, Dean, as skilled at it as you are.”

“I think in this case it’s more like prioritization,” Dean argues. “Really, though, Cas. I hate to say this, but you sound rough.”

“I know.” Dean can practically see the grimace on Cas’ face. “Jimmy hasn’t been sleeping. I’ve been staying up with him, not knowing what else to do. I don’t know if it’s even helping, since he barely says anything, but I can’t just leave him alone.”

“No, of course not.” Dean remembers, though only vaguely, what his father was like after his mother died. To lose a spouse, and so suddenly-- his heart aches for Jimmy. “You know I hate all that psych talk, but grief really does come in stages. Or waves. Maybe Jimmy is quiet now, but he’s going to need someone to talk to eventually.”

Cas doesn’t answer, so Dean changes the subject. “Listen. I’m looking at flights right now. I want to come out there for a few days. I’m worried about you, Cas.”

This time, Cas’ reply comes swiftly. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Dean.”

“I’ll get a hotel room, I won’t even come to the house and try to insert myself into their grief,” Dean continues, choosing to ignore Cas’ words. “I just want to be there for you, Cas.”

“Dean--”

“And it’s fine if you can’t spend much time with me, I get it. Really. I just hate being stuck here worried about you and I need to see you, even for a minute, alright?”

“Dean.” Cas’ voice is firmer this time, and Dean finally stops his rambling and pays attention. “No.”

Dean frowns at the phone even though Cas can’t see him. “Why not? I checked my schedule, the team will be fine without me for a few days. And the plane ride isn’t that long, I’m sure I’ll make it through with just some white knuckles and clenched teeth.”

He can hear Cas breathing on the other end of the line, sharp and quick. “Cas?”

“I’m not coming back to Seattle,” Cas says.

The phone almost slips from Dean’s hands, his fingers going lax in his shock. “What?”

“Not in the foreseeable future, anyway.” Cas’ voice shakes slightly. “I can’t leave him.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I get it.” Dean can only imagine how he would react if Sam lost Eileen. Of course he would stay with Sam as long as he needed. “But Cas, if you’re staying in Chicago, it only makes more sense for me to come see you.”

“No,” Cas says again. There’s something terrible about his tone, something that has Dean flinching back from the phone even though he normally loves the sound of Cas’ voice. “I can’t do this, Dean.”

Dean swallows roughly. “Do what, exactly?”

“I can’t--” Cas cuts off with an muttered oath under his breath. “I’m sorry, Dean. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t understand.” Dean presses the phone back to his ear as though holding it closer will clarify the situation for him. “Cas, sweetheart, I know it’s a tough time, but we’re going to get through this, alright?”

He can hear the shudder in Cas’ voice. “Dean--”

“I won’t book the flight, okay? If that’s what you really want. You take care of your family, and you call me when you can.” It will hurt, not being able to be there for Cas, but Dean will do it.

“You don’t understand,” Cas says. His voice is bleak now, empty. “Dean, I’m trying to break up with you.”

The laugh escapes Dean before he can rein it in. “What? Come on, Cas.”

“I’m serious. It isn’t fair to you, to ask you to wait for me while I stay here, trying to put my brother back together again.”

“I don’t care,” Dean insists. “Fuck, that came out wrong. Of course I care. I don’t mind, Cas. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

“No, Dean.” There’s a long, terrible pause. “I’m sorry. You deserve better than this. But it’s what has to be done.”

“No it isn’t--” Dean starts to say, but Cas cuts him off.

“Please don’t call me again, Dean. It will only make things harder for both of us.”

“Cas, you stubborn asshole--”

“I’ve asked Balthazar to drop by your office and get my keys. He’s going to look after my apartment in my absence.”

“Would you stop being so goddamn composed for one minute--”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

The line goes silent, and Dean curses, tossing the phone down on the table and burying his head in his hands. He allows himself one minute of frustrated mumbling before he picks the phone back up and tries calling Cas.

He doesn’t answer.

So Dean sends a text instead. _Cas, please call me back. We need to talk._

His phone chimes with a reply only minutes later. _There’s nothing else to say. I truly am sorry, Dean._

All of Dean’s other texts go unanswered.


	2. Chapter 2

Cas stares blankly at the calendar on the wall, pen poised above it. How is it possible that it’s been a week since Amelia died, six days since he flew here to Chicago, three days since the funeral, and one day since he last spoke to Dean?

Pushing aside that last unbidden thought, he makes a large red X through today’s date on the calendar. One day at a time. They just have to take this one day at a time. It’s what all the grief counsellors, the priests, the well-meaning friends keep telling them.

Of course, days have become an abstract concept in the Novak household, since none of its residents are sleeping at night. 

The sound of shuffling footsteps behind him prompts Cas to turn around. Claire’s hair falls in lank blond locks around her face, hiding it from his view. “Good morning,” he offers. 

She tenses, head whipping back and hair flying around her. “There’s nothing good about it.”

Cas winces, but doesn’t press the matter. When she was younger, Claire used to love having him come to visit. He and Jimmy would spend endless hours trying to confuse her, trying to trick her into thinking they were the other twin, and though she would laugh at their antics, she never failed to identify Jimmy without hesitation. 

Now, she just watches Cas warily as she pours herself a cup of coffee, leaning against the counter. He opens his mouth to ask when she started drinking coffee, then closes it again. Considering the fact that he’s on his second cup already, he’s really in no position to judge.

“Are you going to Kaia’s today?” he asks instead. 

Claire’s face softens slightly at the mention of her girlfriend. “After she’s done with school.”

Cas nods. Claire hasn’t gone to school since the accident, and neither Jimmy nor Cas have pushed her on the subject. “I can drive you over, if you want.”

She drains the last of her coffee and sets the mug down with a loud thud. “I don’t need you to hover over me every minute. I can take care of myself.”

“Claire, that’s not what I--”

But she’s already gone, clattering noisily up the stairs. A second later, Cas hears the slam of her bedroom door. Dropping into a seat at the table, he takes a steadying breath and wraps his hands more tightly around his mug. 

He doesn’t know how to talk to Claire anymore. For so long, he was the fun uncle, the one who showed up and took her for ice cream before dinner and let her stay up late when her parents went out for some couple time. Now, he’s doing his best to be whatever she needs, but she’s made it clear that she doesn’t want an uncle-- she just wants her mother. And Jimmy’s distance isn’t helping matters, he knows. Claire adores her father, and she needs him more than ever.

Cas tidies up the kitchen, grateful for something to keep himself busy. He’s reached out to a satellite office of his firm here in Chicago, and they’re willing to take him on in a short-term capacity once he’s ready to return to work, but for now, this is where he needs to be. 

The home phone rings, and Cas quickly dries his hands and goes to answer it. “Novak residence.”

“Jimmy, how are you?”

Cas winces. Their voices are one of the easiest ways to tell he and his twin apart, but over a phone line, it isn’t as evident. “I’m sorry, this is Castiel, his brother.”

“Oh.” The line goes quiet for a moment. “May I speak with Jimmy, please?”

Cas glances up the stairs at the closed door, behind which Jimmy has hidden for most of the past week. “I don’t think he’s up to taking calls right now.”

“Of course. This is Hannah calling, by the way. I’m a friend of Jimmy’s from church. We just wanted to let him know that there will be a memorial service for Amelia this coming Sunday, and we really hope to see him and Claire there. And you, of course.”

“Thank you for letting us know. I’ll pass the message along.” Other than Amelia’s funeral, Cas hasn’t set foot in a church in years. But if Jimmy wants to go, he’ll be right there beside him. “Goodbye, Hannah.”

Setting the phone down, Cas takes a deep breath. He climbs the stairs and knocks softly on Jimmy’s door, but there’s no response. He waits for a minute, then pushes it open.

Jimmy is a still form on the bed, his back to Cas and his head covered by the blankets. Cas comes around the side of the bed and flinches when he realizes his brother’s eyes are open, staring blankly ahead.

“Hey, Jimmy,” he says quietly. 

There’s no sign of acknowledgement. 

Cas sighs and presses ahead regardless. “Someone named Hannah called. The church is holding a memorial service for Amelia this Sunday. I thought you’d want to know.”

Still no response.

“I’m going to tell Claire about it. She might want to go, even if you don’t.” He hopes Claire’s name will provoke some sort of reaction, but he’s disappointed. Jimmy doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. 

With another sigh, Cas turns to leave. He’s almost out the door when Jimmy’s voice stops him in his tracks.

“It’s only been a week,” he says. His voice is hoarse, raw with pain. “I can still smell her shampoo on the pillow.”

Cas closes his eyes briefly, then opens them again, coming back into the room and crouching down beside the bed. “I’m surprised you can smell anything over your own stench,” he says lightly. “You need a shower, Jimmy-Jam.”

Whether it’s the teasing words or the old childhood nickname, something flickers in Jimmy’s eyes, a spark of animation Cas had thought permanently extinguished. He pulls the covers down, revealing his sunken cheeks and week’s worth of stubble, his lips curling into a frown as he does.

“Come on.” Cas extends a hand, hoping beyond hope that Jimmy will take it. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Slowly, Jimmy reaches out and folds his hand into Cas’. His grip is weak, but his hand is warm, and Cas pulls him to his feet with ease. Jimmy sways for a moment, unsteady after so many days curled up in his bed, then turns towards Cas and collapses into his arms.

Cas’ arms come around him, and he holds his brother tight as he cries.

***

The next week passes with slow progress interrupted by frequent setbacks. Jimmy manages to be out of bed for at least part of each day, and by the middle of the week, Claire goes back to school. They barely look at each other, though, and Cas is left hovering uncomfortably between them, his heart aching for them both.

At least he’s finally getting some sleep. The past week of near-sleepless nights has taken its toll on his body, and he collapses into bed each night with a satisfied groan. And yet every morning he wakes confused, still not accustomed to the cheerful blue and white guest room or the feeling of being alone in his bed.

He misses Dean with an intensity that steals the breath from his lungs at the most unexpected times. He’ll be cleaning up after dinner, standing at the kitchen sink, and for a brief second he’ll swear he can feel Dean’s arms around him, Dean’s lips pressing gently against the nape of his neck. He’ll be sitting in front of the TV with Jimmy, watching some terrible daytime talk show, and he’ll swear he can hear Dean’s laugh, hear his scathing commentary. 

He glances at his phone after every one of these moments, but doesn’t reach out. Dean is so full of life and love, and Cas can’t ask him to wait around until he gets himself and his family back to some semblance of normalcy. He loves him too much for that.

Besides, he has enough to handle here as it is. Today is the memorial service at the church, and Cas still isn’t entirely sure that they’re attending. His question is answered when Jimmy comes down to the kitchen, dressed in a somber suit and tie, his hair tidy and his face clean-shaven. 

Cas breathes a small sigh of relief and quietly passes over a cup of coffee. “Is Claire joining us?”

Jimmy shrugs, the movement stiff beneath his jacket. “She didn’t say.”

Willing himself to be patient, Cas finishes his coffee in silence. He heads back upstairs to change into something more suitable, then knocks on Claire’s door.

“Yeah?”

He opens it cautiously to find her sitting on her bed, wearing a black dress and pulling on a pair of low black heels. “We’re almost to ready to go,” he says. “I take it this means you’re joining us.”

She shrugs, not meeting his eyes. “Dad would be sad if I didn’t.”

It’s true, but Cas still shakes his head, wondering why Jimmy and Claire are having so much difficulty communicating. He would have thought Amelia’s death would have brought them even closer together. “Is Kaia coming as well?”

“Yeah.” Claire gives him a small smile as she stands. “She’s meeting us there. She’s not a church-goer, but she wanted to be there for me.”

Cas hasn’t met Kaia yet, but from all accounts, she’s an excellent match for Claire. He’s happy she has someone to lean on, someone to be beside her at this difficult time. “Good,” he says. “We’ll leave in five minutes.”

She nods, busy rummaging through her nightstand, so Cas leaves her to it. He checks his own appearance in the bathroom mirror, then grabs his coat and keys and waits downstairs until Jimmy and Claire join him.

The church parking lot is already almost full, just like it was for the funeral. As a librarian at the small local branch, Amelia had been well-known and well-loved by a number of people. It doesn’t surprise Cas to see the same holds true at the church. They attract a number of curious glances and sympathetic looks as they enter, and Cas is proud of the way both Jimmy and Claire keep their heads held high with quiet dignity. 

Inside the church, Claire immediately turns to a slender figure and launches herself forward. “This is Hannah,” she says, looking back over her shoulder at Cas. “They’re the one who called you.”

“Ah.” Cas extends a hand to shake in greeting. “A pleasure to meet you, Hannah.”

“You as well,” they respond. “I’ve heard so much about you from Jimmy and Amelia over the years. I’m sorry it took an event like this for us to finally meet.”

“As am I.” Cas grimaces, turning to look at Jimmy. He’s standing perfectly still, his throat working visibly as he swallows. Cas starts to reach for him, but Hannah is already there, laying a gentle hand on his arm and saying something quietly under their breath. Jimmy nods quickly, then visibly pulls himself together and allows Hannah to guide him down the aisle to the first pew, Cas and Claire trailing behind. 

A few others stop to offer their condolences and be introduced to Cas. Jimmy and Claire respond quietly but politely to all of their words, but say little themselves. Five minutes later, a slight, dark-haired girl slides into the pew beside them, dropping a quick kiss on Claire’s cheek. “Hey,” she says softly. “How are you holding up?”

Claire’s response is too quiet for Cas to make it out, but he sees the tension ease from her shoulders as Kaia takes her hand and holds it between them. He offers a polite smile in response to Claire’s introduction, but doesn’t get a chance to say much more before the service starts.

Somewhat to his chagrin, Cas doesn’t pay a great deal of attention to the pastor’s words. He’s preoccupied with distant memories of Sundays spent much like this, sitting prim and proper in church with his family around him. He was always quiet and dutiful during service, while Jimmy would fiddle with scraps of paper and try to engage Cas in some of their usual antics. Back then, Jimmy was the mischievous one, the troublemaker, always leading Cas into some sort of a scrape. 

But then, at seventeen, Cas came out to his parents, and though they were confused at first, they never made him feel lesser for it. The church did, though. So Cas stopped attending. Jimmy joined him in his protests out of solidarity, though Cas has always suspected he was grateful for any excuse to stop going to church. A year and a half later, when Jimmy tearfully confessed that he and Amelia were expecting a baby, the twins stepped back into church for the first time as groom and best man. 

It’s strange, to be sitting here now. Cas knows Jimmy has found his faith again, and has never questioned it, but it’s clear now that this is a very different sort of church than the one they attended in their youth. None of the congregation seems bothered by Claire and Kaia holding hands in the first row, and everyone who spoke to or about Hannah used their proper pronouns without batting an eye. Glancing over at Jimmy, he sees an expression of peace on his face that hasn’t been there in the two weeks since Amelia’s death. If this place, this service, can bring that look back onto his brother’s face, Cas can’t fault it. 

He hovers in the entryway after the service ends, hands tucked into his pockets as he watches Jimmy talk quietly with the pastor. Claire and Kaia are seated together on a bench at the other side of the room, and as Cas watches, Claire reaches up to tuck a strand of Kaia’s hair behind her ear, bringing a blush to Kaia’s cheeks.

“They’re sweet, aren’t they?” 

Cas turns to meet Hannah’s compassionate gaze. “They are,” he agrees. “Thank you for letting us know about this. I think it has done Jimmy a world of good.”

“I hope so,” Hannah replies. They look across the room and smile sadly. “He’s been a good friend to me, and so was Amelia. I’m just trying to offer what comfort I can.”

“You and me both,” Cas says. 

Hannah laughs softly. “You live in Seattle, right? You must be missing it.”

Cas shakes his head. “I lived in Seattle,” he corrects. “I’m staying here for the foreseeable future. I can’t leave my brother.”

“Hmn.” Hannah looks at him, considering. “That’s very noble of you. Jimmy and Claire are lucky to have you.”

Grimacing, Cas asks, “Are they? I can’t help feeling like I’m not helping at all, despite my best efforts.”

“It’s hard to watch others grieve,” Hannah says gently. They look back towards Jimmy for a moment, thoughtful. “Listen. I’ve been meaning to spend some time with Jimmy, and I’m sure you could use a break. Why don’t you take the rest of the day to yourself? Go for a walk, see a movie, anything. Claire will probably go home with Kaia, and I’ll look after Jimmy.”

Cas hesitates. As tempting as it sounds, he’s reluctant to step aside even for an afternoon. “I’m not sure--”

“Cas.” Hannah interrupts with a firm shake of their head. “You can’t be there for them if you’re not looking after yourself. And you’re grieving as well. Please, just give yourself the day. I promise I will call you if anything comes up.”

Smiling despite himself, Cas shakes his head. “I can see there’s no arguing with you.”

“No,” Hannah agrees, a smile lighting their features. “Go on. Get out of here.”

Cas takes a moment to say goodbye to Jimmy and Claire, both of whom merely nod at his explanation, then steps outside the church, breathing in the fresh air. His phone is out of his pocket and in his hand before he even realizes it, his fingers already hovering over Dean’s name in his contact list. He stares down at the screen, the tiny picture of Dean laughing from the front seat of the Impala, then curses under his breath and slides the phone back into his pocket. 

One day at a time, he reminds himself. Eventually, the ache he feels whenever he thinks of Dean will begin to fade. One day at a time.

***

Going back to work is difficult, but ever since the memorial service, Jimmy has been doing a bit better, and Cas decides it’s time. The office in Chicago is smaller than his own back home, but the people are friendly and grateful to have his help. As much as he hates to admit it, it’s good for him to get away from the house, to be in an atmosphere that isn’t clouded by grief.

One Friday night, about a month after Amelia’s death, Cas comes home to a quiet house. It isn’t unusual for Claire to be out-- she had texted him her plans to see Kaia tonight-- but Jimmy almost never leaves unless Cas or Hannah drags him out. If Hannah does, they always make sure to let Cas know in advance.

Frowning, Cas climbs the stairs. Jimmy’s bedroom door is open, and there are no signs of movement within. It’s not until he goes back to the main level and hears a creaking noise from the basement that he realizes where his brother is. 

“Jimmy?” he calls down the stairs. There’s a shuffling noise, but no real answer. Concerned, Cas ventures down to investigate, flicking on the light as he does. 

He finds Jimmy sitting on the floor in front of the television, surrounded by photo albums. Cas’ throat tightens as he takes in the sight, and he sinks down to sit beside Jimmy, offering his wordless support. He’s seen most of these photos before, but not in years: Jimmy and Amelia’s wedding day, the day Claire was born, her first birthday, the trip Jimmy and Amelia took to San Francisco for their fifth anniversary. 

Slowly, Jimmy looks up to meet his eyes. “I miss her so much,” he says.

“I know.” It’s an inadequate response, but Cas doesn’t know what else to say. “How long have you been down here?”

Jimmy shrugs, looking away. “I don’t know.”

Cas nods. He glances down at the album spread in front of Jimmy, one of the oldest there. Grinning back at him from the yellowed page is his own face, all dressed up in a truly horrendous suit. “Senior prom,” he says, tapping the photo lightly. “It feels so long ago.”

“It was.” Jimmy flips the page, revealing a full-length portrait of him and Amelia. The quintessential high-school sweethearts, prom king and queen. By today’s standards, their outfits are hideous, but the bright smiles on their faces make them look beautiful. “We were so young, but even then, we knew we wanted to be together forever.”

Cas remembers that night well, despite the years that have passed. He attended alone, but both Jimmy and Amelia made sure he never felt left out. He danced with Amelia and told her how happy he was that Jimmy had found someone like her, and she laid a soft hand on his cheek and told him that someday, he would too. 

A few pages later is one of the earliest photographs taken after Amelia announced she was pregnant. In it, she stands under the apple tree in her parents’ front yard, Jimmy with his arms wrapped around her from behind. “We were so scared when we found out,” Jimmy says quietly. “We were both so young. But Amelia was happy, happier than I’d ever seen her. And when Claire was born--” he trails off, shaking his head. “I never knew I could love two people so much, in such different ways. My wife and my daughter.”

He looks up to meet Cas’ eyes, and his face is haunted. “I can’t do this without her, Cas. We were with each other every step of the way for almost eighteen years. And now she’s just-- gone. I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye, to tell her how much I love her.”

Cas reaches out and wraps an arm around Jimmy’s shoulders. They seem narrower than usual, a new frailty about him. “She knew,” he says quietly. “How could she not know? You lit up every time she came into the room, every time you heard her name. And she loved you just as much.” He pauses, shaking his head. “No one expected the two of you to make it work. Even Mom and Dad thought you were just getting married because of Claire, and that you’d drift apart eventually. But I knew, because I know you, Jimmy. Yours was the kind of love we all dream of.”

“We almost did end things, once.”

Turning his head sharply to the side, Cas stares at Jimmy. “What?”

Jimmy nods, grimacing. “Claire was two years old. Amelia was in school full-time, I was working as much as I could just to keep ahead of the bills. We were both exhausted, and we just started fighting over every little thing. One night, Amelia had enough. She left and went back to her parents’ house. I was furious, and I didn’t go after her right away. But as I was putting Claire to bed, I realized how wrong it felt, not having her there with me. I called Mom to come stay with Claire and I drove over to Amelia’s parents’ house right away. I didn’t even have to knock on the door before she was opening it, and we were both apologizing.”

Cas has never heard this story before. He didn’t think there was anything Jimmy kept secret from him. “And then what?” 

Jimmy shrugs. “We made it work. We still fought, but we talked about it instead of just yelling. We let Mom help out more, rather than stubbornly insisting we were doing okay on our own. We just loved each other better than before.”

Letting out a deep breath, Cas shakes his head slowly. “I never knew.”

Jimmy gives him a twisted smile. “We both wanted to move past it. And we did. That kind of love everyone dreams of, even it isn’t perfect all the time.” He closes his eyes tightly. “But it was damn near close.”

They sit in silence for a few more minutes, and then--

“It isn’t fair,” Jimmy says dully. 

“No,” Cas agrees. He tightens his grip on Jimmy, letting out a deep breath. “No, it isn’t. But you have years of wonderful memories, and you have Claire.”

Jimmy winces at the sound of her name. “I haven’t been a very good father to her lately.”

“Maybe not.” Cas shrugs. “But it’s never too late to change that.”

Running his finger over the photo of him and Amelia, Jimmy nods. “I’d like to be alone for a while, please.”

“Of course.” Cas rises, squeezing his shoulder as he does. “I’m here if you need me.”

Jimmy nods again, but doesn’t reply. Cas leaves the lights on and goes back upstairs to make something for dinner, leaving the leftovers in the oven for Jimmy when he emerges. Tonight felt like a turning point, somehow, and for the first time since his arrival in Chicago, Cas feels a spark of hope. 

His phone beeps at him from the kitchen table where he left it before going downstairs in search of Jimmy. It’s a new email from work, an update to one of the files he’s been working on. It can wait until Monday. But as Cas closes the message, he also sees he has a notification for a new voicemail. Frowning, he checks his call logs. The only missed call is one from a number he doesn’t recognize, so he plays the message, curious.

“Cas.”

One simple word. Just his name. But Cas would know that voice anywhere. He nearly drops the phone in his surprise, wondering why the message came from another number and not Dean’s. 

“I miss you so much.” There’s a great deal of noise in the background. It sounds like Dean is at a bar, or maybe at a party he’s working. “I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry. I just really wanted to hear your voice.”

It’s too much, too unexpected. He deletes the message without finishing it, heart racing. Dean has been so respectful of his wishes until now, cutting off all contact like Cas requested. What happened to make him break that rule? Cas has been able to convince himself that Dean is better off without him, that he’s happy and thriving, and that he clearly doesn’t need Cas that badly if he can give him up so easily. But this-- this would indicate the opposite is true. 

Feeling sick, he climbs the stairs and crawls into bed even though it’s barely eight o’clock. He wishes he hadn’t deleted the message so quickly. He keeps his phone on, held tightly in his hand as he stares up at the ceiling, but there are no more calls. He could call back, of course. Finally give voice to the loneliness that has been gnawing away at him for the past month.

But he doesn’t.

***

After six weeks in Chicago, Cas is settling into a routine. He wakes up early, goes for a run, then comes back to make breakfast before heading into work, usually dropping Claire off at school on his way. Jimmy doesn’t join them every day, but as time goes on, he appears at the kitchen table more and more frequently. He’s also slowly started taking on new projects with his freelance editing business, and Cas is so proud of him, his heart feels like it might burst.

The only thing that still gives Cas pause is the uneasy relationship between Jimmy and Claire. They dance around each other, speaking very little, but Cas observes the looks of yearning on both of their faces every time the other’s back is turned. He’s tried talking to Claire about it, but despite the progress they’ve made in their own relationship, she shuts him down the instant he broaches the subject. 

It’s times like these he really wishes he hadn’t been so stubborn in refusing Dean’s help, in cutting off all contact with him. Dean has a way of reaching young people, a way of getting them to open up despite their initial hostility. And having lost both his parents at a young age, surely he and Claire would have a great deal to talk about. But Cas burned that bridge when he first arrived here, and he’s too ashamed to try to rebuild it now. 

He’ll just have to keep trying on his own.

One Saturday evening, Cas is settling in with a book he picked up at the local library, enjoying the quiet of the house. Claire is at a party, and Hannah took Jimmy to the local women’s shelter to donate some of Amelia’s old things, the ones he could bear to part with. As much as Cas loves his brother and his niece, he had become accustomed to living alone in Seattle, and it’s a welcome relief to have some time to himself. He passes a few hours between the pages of his book, a surprisingly humourous urban fantasy about a doctor who specializes in treating supernatural beings, and only looks up when he hears the front door opening.

He gets to his feet and crosses the room to greet Hannah, who has walked to the door with Jimmy. “Good to see you,” he tells them. “I hope you had a pleasant evening.”

“We did.” Hannah gives him a gentle smile. “We went out for coffee afterwards. Decaf for me. I have an early shift at the hospital tomorrow.”

“Whereas I have no plans and can stay up all night if I need to,” Jimmy jokes. It’s the most light-hearted Cas has seen him since Amelia’s death, and he sends Hannah a grateful look. Whatever they did, whatever moral support they provided, seems to have done wonders for Jimmy. “Goodnight, Hannah.”

“Night, Jimmy.” Hannah gives him a warm hug, then smiles at Cas. “Goodnight, Cas.”

Cas lifts a hand in a wave as Hannah walks back to their car, hands tucked into their coat pockets. “What are you up to?” Jimmy asks, entering the house.

“Just reading.” Cas indicates the book he left on the coffee table. “But it can wait.”

Jimmy shifts his weight from side to side. “Maybe--” he hesitates, looking unusually shy. “Maybe we could watch a movie?”

“That sounds great.” Cas gestures to the TV and seats himself on the couch once more. “You pick.”

They’re soon absorbed in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, laughing at all the same things they’ve laughed at time and time again over the years. With every smile that crosses Jimmy’s face, Cas feels his heart lighten. It’s so good to see him happy again, even if for this brief window of time. 

About an hour in, Cas’ phone buzzes at him from the coffee table. Grimacing in apology, he pauses the movie and picks it up, accepting the call the instant he sees Claire’s name on the screen. “Claire?”

Jimmy looks over at the sound of his daughter’s name, sitting up straight in his chair. “Slow down,” Cas says into the phone. She sounds frantic, and the loud music playing in the background doesn’t help him to understand her. “Yes. Of course I’ll come get you. Text me the address, I’m leaving right now.”

“What’s wrong?” Jimmy demands, shooting to his feet. “Is Claire okay?”

“Yes,” Cas says, reaching out to lay a soothing hand on his brother’s shoulder. “She just needs a ride. The friend who drove her and Kaia to the party has been drinking, and they don’t want to get in the car with her.”

Jimmy frowns as Cas heads to the hall closet to throw on his coat, grabbing his keys from the tray on the table. “Why didn’t she call me?” Jimmy asks. “I’m her dad. I should be the one she calls in this kind of situation.”

Cas pauses with his hand on the door. He doesn’t know how to respond without his words sounding like an accusation. But he and Jimmy have rarely needed words to communicate, and a sudden flush works its way over Jimmy’s cheeks as he swallows roughly, his eyes filling with guilt.

“Get your coat,” Cas tells him. “I’ll start the car.”

It’s a short drive to the house where the party is being held, and they pass it in silence. Jimmy’s profile is stark in the glow of the streetlights, his lips pressed in a thin line. Cas pulls up in front of the house and immediately spots Claire and Kaia huddled together on the front steps. He beeps the horn lightly, and they both look up. Jimmy is out of the car in an instant, crossing the lawn toward the girls. Cas can’t hear what he says, but whatever it is, it has Claire launching herself into his arms, Jimmy resting his chin on top of her blonde hair and holding her tightly. 

Cas breathes a sigh of relief as they pull apart and Claire tugs Kaia forward. Jimmy has a hug for her too, his tall frame making her look even slighter in comparison. Cas smiles at all three of them as they pile into the car, Jimmy in the passenger seat and the girls in the back. “It couldn’t have been that great of a party if you were sitting outside,” he comments.

“It wasn’t,” Kaia replies. “Thanks for coming to get us.”

“Of course,” Jimmy says. He turns to look at Claire, raising one eyebrow at her. “Is Kaia coming over, or should we drop her off first?”

In the rearview mirror, Cas sees Claire’s shaky smile. “She has to work tomorrow, so it’s probably best if we drop her off.”

“Somebody will have to give me directions, then.” Cas looks over his shoulder and smiles at them. “I have no idea where I’m going.”

Both girls laugh, but Kaia provides excellent directions back to her house. Cas and Jimmy politely look out their respective windows while Claire and Kaia exchange a brief kiss and a whispered farewell before Kaia swings out of the car. “Goodnight, Mr. Novak. And, uh, Mr. Novak.”

Cas lifts a hand in farewell and waits for her to enter the house. While he does, Jimmy slides out of the passenger seat and climbs in the back beside Claire. She glances over at him, a wary hope clear in her eyes even at Cas’ poor angle, and then lets out a tiny sigh as Jimmy wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m sorry, Clarabelle,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry.”

Claire’s words are muffled by Jimmy’s shoulder, but in the small space of the car, Cas can still hear them clearly. “I just miss her so much, Dad.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Jimmy looks up, and his eyes meet Cas’ in the rearview mirror, filled with grief but also with something like determination. “So do I.”

Cas pulls away from Kaia’s house, keeping his eyes on the road to give Jimmy and Claire the illusion of privacy as they both cry. His own throat feels tight with a potent combination of emotions: pride in Claire and Kaia for calling for a ride when they needed one, relief that Claire and Jimmy seem to be working towards rebuilding their relationship, a strange sense of intruding on their private moment, and a terrible loneliness that lodges beneath his ribs and steals the breath from his lungs. 

Glancing over at the empty passenger seat, he swears he can almost picture Dean sitting there, smiling that soft, beautiful smile he only shows in his most unguarded moments. Cas tightens his grip on the steering wheel, wishing it were Dean’s hand he was holding instead, and inhales sharply as he feels the first tear make its slow way down his own cheek.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean spends the first week waiting for the phone to ring, like it’s all just a horrible joke or a terrible dream. Like Cas will change his mind. But as the days go by, the reality of the situation slowly begins to sink in, and Dean curses himself for ever thinking it could be any other way. Cas is nothing if not stubborn, and now that he’s made a decision, he’ll stay committed to it.

Of course, it was a ridiculous decision, but that’s besides the point. 

He keeps himself busy, and when Benny or Krissy or any of his other friends ask about Cas, he just gives a small, sad smile and shakes his head, letting them interpret that how they will. He refuses to say it-- _Cas broke up with me._ They didn’t break up. There was nothing mutual about it. Cas was the one who made that call, and Dean wishes he could hate him for it, wishes he could be righteously furious like he’s been after some other break-ups in his past.

But he understands why Cas did it. He doesn’t have to like it, but he does understand. So he does what Cas asked of him-- he doesn’t call, doesn’t text. Cas wanted to focus on his family, and Dean respects that. It’s hard as hell, not only because he misses that grumpy face when he first wakes up in the morning, misses sending Cas snarky texts about the parties he’s working, misses the way he kisses like his mission in life is to learn every crease in Dean’s lips, but also because he knows Cas is hurting. It’s never been in Dean’s nature to let someone he cares about suffer alone, and it absolutely kills him to not check in on Cas. He consoles himself with the thought that if things got truly bad, if something else happened and Cas were really in a bad place, he would let Dean know. Dean has to believe he still cares enough to do that much.

On the darkest days, though, a tiny voice whispers into his ear, telling him that Cas doesn’t care, never cared at all. If he did, why would he have broken up with Dean in the first place? Maybe he was looking for an excuse to end things all along, and this extended trip to Chicago provided a neat way to do so. It’s fucked up that Dean would ever even think such a thing, and he hates himself for ever letting it cross his mind, but he’s never been great with the whole self-esteem thing. 

So he throws himself into work, shrugs off all his friends’ questions, and goes to sleep each night splayed out in the centre of his bed, trying to adjust to the new physical reality of his situation. When he wakes on ‘his’ side every morning, curled up like Cas’ arms are around him once more, he punches his pillow and rolls out of bed to greet another day as empty as his bed.

This particular Friday seems pulled from Dean’s worst nightmares. The client is insisting that they asked for a different package, despite the very clear email chain Dean has to prove otherwise. When presented with this evidence, they turn defensive instead, saying it was a simple error and any company worth its salt should be able to switch packages without a fuss. Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and agrees, yes, that’s true, but generally they’re given a bit more warning. They have six hours until the function. The line goes quiet for a moment, and then the client says, “So you’re saying you can’t do it?” 

Which is how Dean ends up calling in every employee he has and then throwing on an apron himself, dashing around the kitchen like a contestant on one of those cooking competition shows, except without the benefit of editing. Under the pressure, tempers flare as quickly as the gas range, so Dean spends half his time playing peacemaker while also ensuring everything gets finished on time. 

By the time the van is loaded up and ready to head to the event site, Dean just wants to go home. But it’s a point of professional pride, so he climbs wearily into the front of the van, tugging at the bowtie around his neck. Max slumps in the passenger seat beside him, taking advantage of the ten-minute drive across town to have a short nap. Dean really wishes he could do the same.

It’s just Max with him for the actual event, and multiple times over the course of the evening, Dean thanks his past self for hiring Max a year ago despite his lack of experience. He’s effortlessly charming and has an excellent memory for detail, both traits that make him very good at what he does. They make it through the night on sheer force of personality alone, handling a potentially awkward encounter with the disgruntled client with fake smiles and equally fake modesty when praised for their last-minute ability to make changes.

“What can I say,” Dean answers, giving a small shrug. “I have a great team.”

Max meets his eyes and barely manages to conceal his smirk. Fortunately, they’re spared any further conversation by the CEO starting her speech, and Dean makes a graceful exit, taking his tray of champagne towards more deserving employees. 

By the time they’ve packed up and are headed back to the office, Dean is running on adrenaline. The second he’s in the van, he removes his bowtie and throws it aside, ignoring the strange look Max gives him. 

“Fuck, I’m tired,” he announces. “Can’t wait to get home and sleep for a week.”

Max raises an eyebrow at that. “Somehow I doubt Cas will be impressed with such a lazy-ass boyfriend.”

His words hang heavily in the sudden silence between them, lodging themselves in Dean’s chest like a dagger. He opens his mouth to reply, but nothing emerges. Max’s eyes widen, and he holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry, Dean. I hope that wasn’t crossing a line, I was just kidding.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Dean clears his throat roughly. “You know I hate standing on ceremony with you guys. It’s just--” he closes his eyes, letting out a shaky exhale. “Cas and I, we, uh, broke up.”

Max lets out a low whistle. “Shit. I had no idea. That sucks.”

Dean can’t believe he just said that out loud. He must have left his filter back at the event space, because he’s avoided admitting as much to even his closest friends, and here he is telling a kid he’s only known for a year. A kid he likes and respects as a colleague, yes, but not a friend, not the way Benny or Charlie are his friends. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Max offers tentatively.

“No.” Dean shifts the truck into drive and makes his way out of the parking lot, keeping his eyes on the road. “What’s done is done.”

Max subsides, and Dean immediately feels guilty for snapping at him. He rubs one hand over his face, weary to the bone, and glances across the seat. “Sorry,” he says quietly. “I shouldn’t be taking my frustrations out on you.”

“We’re cool.” Max gives him a considering look. “If you don’t want to talk about it, we won’t. I’m going out after this. There’s a new club downtown, and my buddy is a bartender there. You wanna come with?”

Dean almost laughs at the thought. He hasn’t been to a club in-- god, it’s been years. “I think I’m a little old for the club scene.”

“Please.” Max waves a dismissive hand in the air. “You’re what, early thirties?”

“Thirty-two.”

“There you go. Plenty of people older than you still go out dancing and drinking with their friends. Where’s the harm in having a little fun?”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe Dean should be looking to the future. He really isn’t that old, and he’s entitled to a bit of a personal crisis. He could drop by, have a drink, see how it feels--

But no. He doesn’t want to go listen to music he hates, surrounded by people he doesn’t know, and lose himself in whiskey and empty flirtation. He just wants--

Well. He can’t have what he wants. 

“Maybe some other time,” he says.

There’s too much understanding, and too much of something that looks like pity, in Max’s eyes. “Sure. And hey. The offer to talk is still open too. Anytime.”

“Thanks.” Dean reaches across and pats him on the shoulder. “You’re a good kid, Max.” 

They pull into the office lot and begin unloading their gear from the truck. “Hey, by the way,” Dean says as they get the last of it back in its proper place. “Can you, uh, not mention this to anyone? What I told you tonight?”

Max frowns at him, but nods slowly. “Yeah. Sure.”

“I just don’t want everyone walking on eggshells around me, you know, and--”

“Dean.” Max holds up a hand to stop him. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I get it. And I won’t say a word.”

Letting out a deep breath, Dean says, “Thanks. Again.” He gestures to the door. “Go on, get out of here. I’ll take care of the paperwork and finish up.”

Max gives him one last smile, a small salute, and then he’s gone. 

Dean climbs slowly up to his office, the stress of the day taking its toll on every muscle of his body. Fortunately, he’s filed event reports so many times over the years he can do them in his sleep, which is pretty much the level of brain power he’s operating at now. He fills in numbers mechanically, adds a few comments about how great Max was all night and how hard the team worked to get everything ready in such a short amount of time, then saves and prints the document. 

Automatically reaching for a pen, he draws back with a flinch at the sight of the mug he keeps them in. It was a gift from Cas on their six-month anniversary, a large, sturdy white mug with the word ‘Pie-Sexual’ spelled out in bold black letters. Dean loved it so much, he got another one to use at home and brought this one to the office. Cas had been delighted that his gift was so well-received, and even now, Dean remembers the satisfied smile he wore every time he saw Dean using the mug.

Dean dumps all the pens out of the mug, scattering them across the surface of the desk. He picks up the mug, running his hand over its smooth surface, then hurls it at the wall. It smashes with a satisfying crash, shards of ceramic falling to the floor. 

Breathing heavily, Dean signs his name to the event report and sticks it in his file folder. He uses his foot to sweep together all the broken pieces of the mug, then dumps them into the garbage. Gathering his coat, he flicks off the light and leaves the office in search of his too-wide, too-cold bed.

***

After another few weeks, it’s gotten much harder to keep up the illusion that he and Cas are still together despite the physical distance between them. Gradually, Dean tells his friends what happened, never going into much more detail than _Cas needed to be with his family, and he doesn’t know when he’ll be back. So he ended things._ Benny doesn’t say anything at all, just pulls Dean in for a hug. Over the phone, Charlie waits only a beat before suggesting he probably just meant they should take a break, and Dean’s flat ‘no’ in response to that ends the discussion.

As usual, the one who does most of the emotional heavy lifting is Sam. They’re talking over Skype so Dean can catch up with Eileen as well, but she has a class to catch, so she leaves partway through the conversation. It’s not until after she’s gone that Sam steers the conversation around to Cas, or rather his marked absence.

“Did he have to fly back to Chicago?” Sam asks, eyes compassionate. Dean had told him what happened to Amelia right at the beginning, because Sam and Cas are actually friends and he thought Sam had a right to know. But he never told him anything past that.

Dean exhales shakily, reaching for his coffee and suddenly wishing it were something stronger. “Yeah, about that. He never left.”

Under other circumstances, Dean would tease Sam about the frown that crosses his face. “Never left Chicago? You mean he’s been there-- what, a month now?”

“Yeah.” Dean puts down his mug, a plain white one with no painful memories attached to it. 

“That sucks,” Sam offers. “It must be tough being away from him for so long.”

And that’s just the thing-- if it were just the separation, Dean could handle it. It’s the finality of it all that he can’t cope with, the knowledge that even if Cas does come back, it might not change anything between them.

“He broke up with me.”

Sam reaches out and taps the screen. “Sorry, I think our connection went sideways for a second there. It sounded like you said he broke up with you.”

Dean gives a bitter laugh. “No, you heard me right. A few days after he left. Said he couldn’t leave Jimmy, and it wasn’t fair to ask me to wait around for him. That he needed to focus on his family. We haven’t talked since.”

“Jesus.” Sam shakes his head from side to side. “Why didn’t you tell me? Dean, this is terrible.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Dean reaches for his coffee mug again, but it’s empty. Figures. “I just didn’t want to admit it, at first. Then I didn’t want people’s pity. And now--” he shrugs. “I just don’t care anymore.”

“Of course you care,” Sam replies softly. “You don’t know how not to care, Dean. It’s not in you.”

Some days, Dean hates how well Sam knows him. “Fine. I don’t want to care anymore, then.”

“If only it were that easy.” Sam’s mouth tightens, and Dean knows he’s thinking back on some of his own relationships. He’s had his fair share of ups and downs, and it only makes Dean happier that he and Eileen are so solid now. “So you really haven’t talked to him at all?”

“He asked me not to.” Dean shrugs. “And he hasn’t reached out to me either. Clearly, he doesn’t miss me as much as I miss him.”

“You know that probably isn’t true. He’s got a lot going on right now.”

He’s right, of course. “Yeah. I know. And that’s what I try to keep telling myself. But sometimes it just hurts, no matter how good the reason.”

Sam nods. “Listen. If it gets to be too much, being in those spaces without him, you can always come stay with us for a few days. Take your mind off things.”

Good old Sam. Always with a solution. Dean can’t deny the idea is appealing. He loves San Francisco, he loves his brother and Eileen, and he could use the vacation. “Maybe in a few weeks,” he says. “We’ve got a few big parties coming up that I don’t want to miss, but then the schedule settles down a bit.”

“Okay.” Another good thing about Sam: he knows when to push, and when to let things be. “Well, the offer’s open.”

“Thanks, Sammy.” 

“Listen, I gotta head out.” Sam grimaces at the screen. “But thank you for telling me, Dean. And just-- take care of yourself, alright?”

“Alright,” Dean agrees. He isn’t entirely sure what that would involve, but he figures it’s easier to give Sam some peace of mind. “I’ll keep you posted about that visit.”

Sam waves goodbye before the screen goes blank. It’s only six o’clock on a Friday evening, and Dean has absolutely no plans for the rest of the night. It’s the quiet times like this that he misses Cas the most, misses arguing with him over what to make for dinner, deciding what movie to watch or what board game to play. Without Cas there to banter with, he ends up just making tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich and watching M*A*S*H re-runs. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but still.

Three hours later, Dean has had enough. Even though he and Cas never officially lived together, they spent so much time in this apartment that it almost feels like they did. Dean needs to get out. He pulls himself off the couch and into the shower before he can change his mind, then throws on jeans, a t-shirt, and his leather jacket over top.

There’s only one place he goes when he’s feeling this kind of way, and that’s the Roadhouse. The parking lot is busy, which bodes well. If it’s too slow, Jo will want to talk. He finds a small table tucked in the back corner for the same reason, knowing it’s Donnie’s section. Donnie is safe-- they get along well, but he doesn’t ask questions. 

An hour and three drinks later, Dean looks up from his contemplation of his empty glass when someone slides into the seat across from him. “You look terrible,” a familiar voice says. “What’s the occasion?”

Dean raises his eyes to meet Balthazar’s cool gaze. Just what he needs. Another reminder of Cas. “No occasion,” he says tightly. “Just keeping the ghosts at bay.”

“Ah.” Balthazar signals to Donnie, and soon enough there are two new drinks on the table in front of them. “For what it’s worth, I think it was a foolish thing Castiel did.”

Dean blinks at him. “You know about that?”

“Sorry, was I not supposed to?” Balthazar doesn’t look sorry at all. “He did ask me to check in on his place after he unceremoniously booted you from the role.”

“Right.” Dean had forgotten about that. “Is part of the role checking up on me as well?” He almost hopes it is. It would be proof that Cas still cares, if nothing else.

And Balthazar knows it, because he hesitates before shaking his head. “No, I just saw you sitting here all by your lonesome and thought I’d come over for a chat.”

Dean gives him a tight smile. “Well, thanks. But I’m good on my own.”

“No you aren’t,” Balthazar says bluntly. “And you won’t be for some time. But until then, you should take advantage of being young and unattached and unfairly blessed in terms of genetics.” He sweeps an arm around the room. “Go forth and conquer.”

Dean honestly can’t think of anything that sounds less appealing. “Thanks,” he says again, “but no thanks.”

“I wasn’t offering.” Balthazar arches an eyebrow at him. “I have company of my own for the night. And here she is.” He gets to his feet as a gorgeous brunette approaches, a hesitant look on her face at the sight of Dean.

“Right.” Dean gets to his feet as well, offers a tight smile, and leaves them the table, since there aren’t many others to be found. He’ll have to take his chances at the bar. 

“Really, though, Dean!” Balthazar calls after him. “Consider it.”

Dean flips him off.

And that’s how he finds himself perched on a stool at the end of the bar, trying to hide from Jo’s gaze while also politely rebuffing the advances of the admittedly appealing older guy a few seats down. It gets a little easier when a leggy blonde slides into one of the seats between them, throwing back whiskey like it’s water. Dean whistles, impressed, and is met with a flat stare. “No,” she says.

He holds up his hands. “Wasn’t a question.”

Grimacing, she shakes her hair away from her face. “Sorry. It’s just--” she shrugs. “You know.”

He doesn’t, really, but he can kind of imagine. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I’m not here for that either, if it makes you feel any better.”

“Relationship trouble?” she guesses. Dean’s eyes widen, and she laughs, though her eyes are still cold. “Takes one to know one.”

Ten minutes later, Dean knows that her name is Jamie, she’s a bartender at another place across town but has tonight off, and that she just broke up with her boyfriend because he was getting creepy and possessive. In turn, he tells her all about Cas, how good things were between them before it all went to shit. 

“Ouch,” she says, patting his arm in sympathy. “So he broke up with you because you’re too good of a boyfriend? Can’t say I’ve heard that one before.”

“Yes!” Dean exclaims. “Exactly!” He’s drunk enough by now that pretty much any alternative explanation or interpretation of Cas’ behaviour sounds appealing. “Who does that?”

“Someone who’s probably regretting it,” Jamie says philosophically, finishing her drink. “Excuse me a moment, will you?”

“Sure.” Dean nods. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, but it’s dead. Without Cas around to text all the time, he’s been lazy about keeping it charged. “Wait. Can I borrow your phone?”

She gives him a strange look, but slides it over, then makes her way towards the bathroom at the back of the bar. Dean takes the phone, typing in the number from long memory. In some distant part of his brain, he recognizes that this is a bad idea, but that doesn’t stop him. The phone rings and rings, a jarring accompaniment to the pounding of his heart.

Cas doesn’t answer.

That should be Dean’s signal to end the call. But instead, he listens to Cas’ voicemail message, the sound of his voice piercing him to the core. “Cas,” he says. His throat closes up and he can’t think of anything else to say. Fuck, this was such a bad idea. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called. I just really wanted to hear your voice.”

He closes his eyes, wondering what expression Cas will wear when he plays this message. Will he be angry? Wistful? Outraged? Dean is all of those things and more. 

“I hope you’re doing well,” he continues. “And Jimmy and Claire. I mean that, really. That’s the reason you ended things, right? So I hope it was all worth it.” He takes a deep breath, fighting down the urge to yell, to rant. Cas isn’t even on the other end of the line, so what good would it possibly do? “Anyway. The girl I borrowed this phone from is coming back.” There. Let Cas make of that what he will. “Call me if you’re back in town, okay?” He almost says _I love you_ but stops himself just in time. “I, uh, really miss you, Cas.”

Jamie raises an eyebrow at him, clearly having caught the end of his horribly embarrassing trainwreck of a speech. “Yikes,” she says.

Dean sighs and hands her back his phone, then runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“I’m gonna go,” she announces. She’s already punching something into her phone, probably calling for a cab. “Thanks for the company and the commiseration, Dean. I hope things start looking up for you.”

“Yeah, you too.” Dean holds out his hand, and Jamie shakes it with a surprisingly firm grip. “Get home safe, alright?”

“You bet.” She gives him a lazy salute, and Dean is comforted to see that she’s steady on her feet as she makes her way to the door. 

He can’t really say the same for himself. Sighing, he switches to water, and as the bar clears out and Jo finally gets a chance to come talk to him, he gives her his best smile and says, “Is that back bedroom still available to crash in?”

To her credit, Jo barely blinks. She just nods, her lips tightening slightly as she looks him over, and says, “Is it as bad as you look?”

Dean takes a minute to consider this. “I really messed up, Jo.”

She sighs and slides him a glass of water. “Drink this. I’ll get you some Tylenol. Things will look better in the morning.”

He sips dutifully at the water, wishing it were that simple. He’s had plenty of mornings since Cas left, and not one of them has brought him any comfort or any relief.

***

It’s a beautiful, surprisingly sunny day, so when Krissy pages him to let him know Garth and Bess have a new batch of jams ready to be picked up, Dean volunteers to do the job himself. Benny offers to come with him for company, but Dean declines. It’s been too long since he took the Impala out for a cruise, and if he can’t have Cas in the passenger seat beside him, he doesn’t really want anyone else there.

He doesn’t need a calendar to keep track of how long it’s been. It would tell him eight weeks since Amelia Novak died, seven since Cas ended things. That isn’t how Dean would tell it, though. He would measure it in the beats of his heart, in the growth of his beard, in the number of knicknacks and articles of clothing he’s thrown out, little reminders of Cas’ presence that he simply can’t deal with anymore. To suggest that time is the only thing that marks Cas’ absence is insulting to all the ways in which his departure has affected Dean’s life. 

Even now, heading out of the city and towards the Fitzgerald farm, Dean is reminded of the last time he and Cas took this trip. It was a day a lot like this one, sunny and fresh. He remembers the way Cas slipped a pair of mirrored aviators on and tilted his face up like a cat basking in the sunshine, the way his hand twined effortlessly with Dean’s on the seat between them. The way they ate strawberries fresh from the farm on the way home, then kissed the sticky juice from each other’s faces. 

Dean turns the stereo up louder, but the songs just don’t sound the same without Cas there beside him.

Cas never called him back after Dean left that voicemail two weeks ago. For the first few days, he watched his phone with laser-like intensity, jumping at every ring and praying to see Cas’ name on the screen. Eventually, he realized it wasn’t going to happen, and by now, he’s given up hope. Cas doesn’t want to talk to him. He made that clear when he left, and nothing has changed. Not in that regard, anyway.

He pulls up in front of Garth and Bess’ farmhouse, the curtains fluttering in the breeze. Bess is working on the garden, a smudge of dirt across one cheek, but she beams as bright as the sun when she turns and sees Dean approaching.

“Dean, how lovely to see you,” she says. “It’s been awhile since you came and visited us yourself. Thought you got too important for that.”

Despite his former bad mood, Dean finds himself smiling at her teasing. “Well, you see, the nice thing about being important is you get to make the decisions. So if I want to take a drive to visit my favourite berry-growing, jam-making friends, I can.”

“And what good timing.” Bess gets to her feet, pulling off her heavy gloves. “I’ve got an apple-blackberry crumble almost ready to come out of the oven.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear.” Dean follows her into the kitchen, where Garth is packing up a crate with jars of jam, all neatly labelled in his loopy handwriting. “Hey, Garth.”

“What’s up, Dean.” Garth looks up and grins at him. “Did you follow the smell of Bess’ crumble all the way out here?”

“That must have been it.” At Bess’ wave, Dean takes a seat at the kitchen table, watching as she bustles around pulling the crumble out of the oven, Garth handing her the oven mitts with perfect timing. There’s an ease and a synchronicity to their movements that speaks to them having done this dance before, and it brings a sad smile to Dean’s face. He covers it with an exaggerated sniff as she places a slice of crumble before him. “That looks amazing. Thanks, Bess.”

She blushes lightly at his praise. “You’re too kind.” 

“So, Dean.” Garth sits across from him and leans forward with interest. “What have you got planned for our jams this time around?”

“Well,” Dean says, swallowing a bite of crumble, “we’ve been having more requests for mid-day sort of events, rather than evening things. So Benny’s perfecting scone recipes, and the jams will be great with those. Also some classic thumbprint cookies and such.”

“And I bet you and Cas are all too happy to play taste-tester,” Bess teases.

Dean takes another bite of the crumble, grateful for the excuse to pause before answering. “I am,” he says eventually. “Cas is in Chicago.”

“On a business trip?” Garth asks.

“No.” Dean shakes his head. It hasn’t gotten any easier, admitting what happened, but he doesn’t like lying about it, especially not to people like Bess and Garth. “His sister-in-law passed away, so he went to be with his brother for a while. He, uh, didn’t think he could handle the distance, so he ended things.”

Bess’ eyes go soft and compassionate while Garth drops his fork with a noisy clatter. “Ah, balls,” he says. “Sorry about that, Dean.”

“Is there any chance of you working things out?” Bess asks. She takes Dean’s plate, even though he hasn’t quite finished, and heaps another slice of crumble onto it. He would protest at the blatant pity of the gesture, but he’s self-aware enough to realize he would probably do the exact same thing in her position.

“I don’t think so.” Dean takes another bite. Might as well enjoy it. “He doesn’t want to talk to me, so I’m giving him his space.”

“Aw, come on now, Dean!” Garth’s eyes are bright as he offers an encouraging smile. “You gotta fight for the one you love. Like I did when Bess’ daddy didn’t think I was good enough for his precious girl. I wasn’t about to let that stop me, and see, it all turned out in the end.”

Bess turns to her husband and places a soft hand on his arm, smiling fondly up at him. “It sure did. But Garth, you have to remember, I wanted to be with you. It was my father who stood between us. You did a brave thing, standing up to him, but it isn’t always that simple.” 

She’s right. Maybe in the movies, the grand gesture always works. The frantic chase through the airport or standing outside someone’s house in the pouring rain, the passionate speech and the eventual reunion. Dean loves a good rom-com as much as anyone, but he’s pretty sure they’re the last place he should be looking for advice on how to proceed. 

“I can’t do that to him,” he says quietly. “I wanted to do everything for him, anything he asked. I would have flown to Chicago with him, I would have stayed here and watched his place, I would have gone to Jimmy and Claire if for some reason he couldn’t. But he didn’t want me to do any of those things.” He pauses, swallowing roughly. “He just wanted me to let him go. So if I love him, really love him, how could I do anything else?”

He broke that rule with that foolish voicemail a few weeks ago. He’s not about to do it again, and especially not in such a dramatic way. He isn’t giving up on Cas by not chasing after him. He’s just-- loving him the only way he knows how to. 

Bess and Garth give him matching sympathetic looks, and Dean laughs, a thin, watery sound. “Christ. I’ve been spilling my guts to anyone who would listen ever since Cas left. Sorry to dump all that on you.”

“Ain’t no shame in sharing your feelings, Dean,” Garth tells him. “Or in feeling them, either.”

Bess reaches out and grips Dean’s hand, her small hand surprisingly strong. “It’s only to be expected. I’m guessing Cas was the person you opened up to more than any other, and without him to talk to, of course you’d need somewhere to let all that out. I’m just sorry we can’t be of more help.”

“You’ve done more than enough,” Dean assures her. He finishes the last of his crumble, savouring the taste. It really is delicious. “I should get going, though.”

He carries his plate to the sink despite Bess’ protests and hefts the box of jam out to the Impala’s trunk. Garth and Bess follow him outside, shading their eyes from the bright sun. 

“I still think you should go after him,” Garth says. Bess nudges him with her elbow, giving him a sharp look, and he shrugs. “But I understand why you won’t. Do something else for me, then?”

“Sure.”

Garth’s face takes on an uncharacteristically serious expression. “Don’t give up on him. Or on yourself. I’ve got a feeling this ain’t over.”

Dean isn’t sure he can agree to do that. Too much hope is only a path to heartbreak. But since his heart is already broken, what more does he have to lose? He nods, and Bess gives him another understanding smile. “See you soon, Dean.”

“Yeah, you bet.” He waves goodbye as he climbs into the car, watching with a tinge of envy as Garth slips his arm around Bess’ waist and she leans into his embrace. They wave until he can’t see them in the rearview mirror anymore, and then he’s on his own once again.

He passes the airport on his way back into town. The temptation to take the exit, to get on the next flight to Chicago, is fleeting. Dean’s just as stubborn as Cas is. He’s made up his mind to stay here, to give Cas the space he asked for, and as painful as it is, he knows he’s doing the right thing. 

Then again, Cas was convinced he was doing the right thing in breaking up with Dean. Maybe there is no right and wrong in this situation. There are only the choices they make, the decisions that seem impossible and have to be made anyway.

Dean just wishes those decisions could have been made together.


	4. Chapter 4

Fittingly, it’s another phone call that disrupts Cas’ life once more.

He’s been living in Chicago for three months now, though it hardly seems that long. Maybe that’s why he’s so surprised when he answers a call from Balthazar one evening after work and the first words out of his mouth are, “Are you ever coming home?”

Cas blinks, then frowns. “Well, yes. I suppose.”

“Not that I mind looking after your place, really, but I can only offer vague platitudes to your neighbours so many times,” Balthazar continues. “That nice Mildred two doors down wants to know when you’ll be back. Says she misses seeing you in the elevators.”

“That’s sweet of her.” Cas heads into the kitchen, where Claire is doing her homework, and puts the kettle on for tea. “And is it just my neighbours who miss me, or is it you as well?”

“Of course I miss you, you scamp.” Balthazar’s voice is warm. “Come back for a visit, at least, won’t you? Surely you can be spared at least that long.”

It’s a tempting idea. Jimmy and Claire have been doing much better ever since that party a few weeks ago, leaning on each other and leaving Cas with less to shoulder. Maybe he could take a few days to go back to Seattle, get some things in order. “I’ll think about it,” he promises. 

After he ends the call, Claire looks up at him, expression neutral. “You’re leaving?”

“I never said that.” Cas turns his back to her to pour his tea, grateful for the chance to school his features. “I said I’d think about it.”

“Think about what?” Jimmy asks as he enters the kitchen, likely drawn in by the sound of the kettle boiling. Cas sighs and pulls down another mug.

“Cas is going home,” Claire says.

“Are you?” Jimmy looks up at him in surprise, and Cas throws up his hands in frustration. “That’s a great idea, Cas.”

His angry retort dies on his lips. “What?”

“Yeah.” Claire pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and nods. “Not that we’re trying to get rid of you or anything.”

“Claire, honey.” Jimmy turns to look at her with a fond roll of his eyes. “Do you think Cas and I could discuss this in private?”

She sighs, but gathers her books and computer off the table. “Don’t let him bully you into anything, Cas,” she advises. “You have to do what’s right for you.”

“Thank you for the advice, Claire.” 

Cas and Jimmy wait until they hear her bedroom door close upstairs, then take seats at the recently-vacated table. “So,” Jimmy says, cradling his mug of tea between both hands.

“So,” Cas echoes. He takes a sip of his own tea to stall for time. “I don’t know, Jimmy. I miss Seattle, of course, and my friends there, but--”

“But what?” Jimmy stares at him, one eyebrow raised. It’s a tad disconcerting, the understanding behind his eyes. “Cas, I know I haven’t said it enough, but thank you. Thank you for being here these past months.”

Cas waves his words aside. “You don’t have to thank me--”

“I do, though,” Jimmy says firmly. “I don’t know what Claire and I would have done without you. You came in and took charge and took care of us like you always do, and I was too wrapped up in my own grief to think about how much it was costing you.”

There’s a lump in Cas’ throat, and he swallows around it. “You would do the same for me.”

Jimmy shuts his eyes for a second. “I hope I never have to.” He opens them again, one corner of his mouth lifting in a rueful smile. “But yeah. I would. Until I wasn’t needed anymore.”

Cas absently traces a pattern on the surface of the table. “Are you saying you don’t need me here anymore?”

“Yes.” Jimmy meets his eyes. “You’re always wanted here, Cas. If you want to stay, if you decide you like Chicago better than Seattle or whatever reason you might have, you can stay as long as you like. But you came here to take care of Claire and I, and you’ve gone above and beyond.”

He pauses for a moment. “And besides. Who’s been taking care of you this whole time?”

Cas wants to protest, to say he doesn’t need taking care of, to say he’s perfectly capable of doing so on his own. But Jimmy is quite possibly the only person who would see through that bluster in an instant, so it isn’t even worth pretending. Instead, he just shrugs and takes another sip of his tea.

“Go home, Cas,” Jimmy says gently. “We’ll be okay. Claire has Kaia and her other friends, I’ve got Hannah and some others from the church. We’re not alone here. And you have people waiting for you back in Seattle.”

Cas winces. Sure, there’s Balthazar and Anna and a few other friends, but when he thinks of the people he left behind, the first face to flash through his mind is Dean’s. Always Dean’s. “I’m not so sure _waiting_ is the right word,” he mutters.

They’ve barely discussed Cas’ relationship with Dean, only the necessary details when it became obvious to Jimmy that something was off. Now, he gives Cas a sympathetic look and reaches across the table to squeeze his arm. “Give me your phone,” he orders, and Cas is already reaching into his pocket before he can stop to question the command.

He passes it across to Jimmy, who turns it on and looks down at the screen, a small smile on his face. He turns it back to Cas and says, “Now try to tell me this is the phone of a man who has given up hope.”

Cas never bothered to change his lock screen. It’s still the same picture it’s been for almost a year, he and Dean with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders, Mount Rainier in the background. 

“I just never changed it--” he starts to say, but Jimmy raises that damn eyebrow again, and Cas falls silent. 

“Look.” Jimmy takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. “Maybe it’s been too long. Maybe Dean has moved on, or maybe he’s angry, or maybe a million other things. But all I know, Cas, is that life’s too short.” He pauses and fixes Cas with a questioning stare. “Do you miss him?”

Cas nods. “More than I can stand.”

“And do you think he misses you?”

It’s a difficult question to answer. There was that voicemail, but that was weeks ago now, and Cas never replied to it, never even listened to the whole thing. He shrugs, pushing down his guilt. “Maybe,” he says.

“Then go home,” Jimmy says. “Talk to him. Actually talk this time. And if it doesn’t go well--” he shrugs--”you know you always have a place here with us.”

For the first time in three months, Cas feels hope stirring in his chest. “Okay,” he says. “I’m not sure about any of this, but okay.”

***

Cas is back in Seattle for a week before he sees Dean. And even then, it’s mere chance--or maybe fate, though Cas doesn’t believe in such a thing-- that brings the two of them together.

He’s at the coffee shop a few blocks down from his apartment. He’s only been gone three months, but he doesn’t recognize any of the baristas. His visions of being welcomed back with smiles and his regular order rung through without question die a swift and sudden death. Cas sighs and places his order, summoning a polite smile for the barista. It’s not her fault he had such high expectations.

He flips idly through his phone while he waits for his drink to be ready, responding to a message from Balthazar. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the door swing open, hears the merry tinkle of the bell announcing a new arrival. The sound makes him look up, and he meets Dean’s eyes.

It’s a good thing he hasn’t yet received his coffee, because he knows with absolute certainty he would have dropped it in that moment.

Dean seems just as surprised as he is. He comes to a sudden halt in the doorway, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. He stares at Cas for a long moment, and then, like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, a smile breaks over his face.

Cas is moving towards him, and Dean is walking in his direction. The rest of the coffee shop fades away until they’re only inches apart. “Hello, Dean,” Cas says. One might think, after all these months, that he’d have something more impressive to say. But Dean has always had a stunning ability to leave him speechless.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean answers. His eyes rove hungrily over Cas’ face, then come back to meet his. “God, it’s good to see you.”

“You as well.” Before Cas can say anything else, the barista calls out his order, and he makes a brief gesture towards the counter. “My coffee--”

“Go.” Dean waves him away. “I’ll grab us a table?” There’s studied casualness in his voice, but his eyes tell another story. He’s nervous. Cas smiles at him, gently, and nods.

His hand shakes as he carries his coffee over to the table by the window where Dean is waiting for him. They’ve sat together here countless times before. He wonders if Dean chose it deliberately, or if muscle memory took over and led his steps here. Either way, Cas’ heartbeat quickens, racing with renewed hope. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Dean says with a little laugh, running one hand through his hair. “Or that we ran into each other so quickly. Did you just get in?”

Cas takes a sip of his coffee, wincing. “Not exactly.”

Dean pauses, a hint of a frown creasing his forehead. “What does that mean?”

“I flew back a week ago,” Cas admits. He can’t meet Dean’s eyes, so he gazes out the window instead.

“A week,” Dean repeats. The new coldness in his voice forces Cas to look at him, and the flutter of excitement he felt at seeing Dean again dies an ignoble death at the look on his face now. “And you didn’t think to call?”

The bitterness of his coffee tastes like a punishment. “I--”

“Of course you didn’t,” Dean says, more to himself than to Cas. “You didn’t call for three months. Didn’t answer my message. Why should I have expected any different now?” He shakes his head, eyes clouded with hurt. “Should have gotten the message a lot sooner, I guess. You don’t care about me anymore.”

Whatever other mistakes he’s made, Cas can’t have Dean thinking that. Can’t have him thinking he isn’t the best part of Cas’ life here in Seattle, the person he’s missed most these past few months. “No, Dean,” he insists. “It wasn’t that, I swear.”

“Then what?” Dean folds his arms on the table. It’s a defensive posture, meant to make him look tough, but Cas can see from his face that he’s breaking inside, and it tears at his own heart to see him so distressed. 

Cas bites his lip. “I didn’t know if I had the right,” he says quietly. “The way I left things, Dean…”

Dean stares at him, shoulders pulled up tight to his ears and mouth set in a thin line. “Did it ever occur to you to ask me what I wanted, or even give me the chance to chime in, instead of just doing what you thought was best?” He pauses, his mouth tightening further. “Again?”

“Dean--”

“I told you to call me if you were back in town. I meant it.”

Cas has no memory of that conversation. He tilts his head to the side, and Dean must read the confusion on his face, because he clarifies, “In that voicemail I left you?”

“Oh.” Cas winces, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “I, ah, didn’t listen to the whole thing.”

“Christ.” Dean laughs, but there’s no humour in it. “You really were determined to cut me out completely, weren’t you?” He stands, buttoning his coat. “Well, sorry to mess that up for you, I guess. I won’t bother you again.”

It takes a second for Cas to rise to his feet, still shocked from the sequence of events. “Dean, wait,” he calls out.

Dean stops, his back still turned to Cas. There’s tension in the stiffness of his shoulders, and a wall behind his eyes when he turns to look back at Cas. 

But Cas walked out of Dean’s life once, and it was one of the worst mistakes he’s ever made. He can’t let Dean do the same, or at least not because he thinks Cas doesn’t care. If he makes that choice, it has to be an informed decision. 

“Please.” He licks his lips, dry with nervousness. “I understand that you’re angry. Rightfully so. But I am going to call you. Whether you choose to pick up or not, that’s up to you.” He pauses, and Dean’s eyes finally soften, though they’re still wary. “I do care. I never stopped caring. I just had a crappy way of showing it.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth quirks up in a familiar, beloved expression. He doesn’t say anything, but he does nod, and Cas thinks that’s as good as he’s going to get.

So he lets Dean walk out of the coffee shop without saying another word, and once he’s gone, Cas sits at their table, staring out at the busy sidewalks and mentally composing the most important speech of his life.

***

It takes three more days for Cas to work up the courage to call Dean again. He knows he should do it sooner rather than later, but he spends so long agonizing over what to say, and the days pass in a flurry of other activities that offer a temporary escape from the situation. He wants to talk to Dean, to ask how he’s been, but if he messes up again, it could be the last time they interact.

He can’t stand the thought of messing up again. Of losing Dean for good.

His heart is lodged somewhere in the vicinity of his throat as he makes the call late on a Tuesday afternoon. He’s planned carefully, knowing that Dean normally doesn’t have functions to attend on Tuesdays. Still, he’s hit with a warm wave of relief when Dean actually picks up the phone instead of letting the call go to voicemail as some sort of punishment. 

“Hey.” Dean’s voice is neutral, not cold but decidedly without his usual charm. “Been wondering when I was going to hear from you.”

“I’m sorry it took so long.” Cas takes a deep breath. “I know I have no right to ask you for anything, Dean, but I hate having this conversation over the phone. Will you come over? I’d like to make you dinner, and we can...talk.”

Dean is quiet for so long Cas thinks he might have hung up. “What time?” he asks eventually. 

Cas breathes a silent sigh of relief. “Is seven alright?”

“Seven it is.” Dean pauses for a moment, then says, “You might have to buzz me in. I don’t know if the security guard will recognize me after all this time, and I don’t have a key anymore.”

His words are delivered in that same neutral voice, but they hit Cas with a sharp sting like a slap across the face. “Okay. See you soon.”

Dean ends the call, and Cas closes his eyes, bracing his arms on the kitchen counter and folding forward, head down. He gives himself a minute to let the violent storm of his emotions settle, then straightens up, squaring his shoulders. Dean accepted his invitation. The first step of his plan was a success. Now, on to the much harder part.

He’s never been much of a cook, but living with Jimmy and Claire significantly improved his skills in the kitchen. Someone had to make sure they were eating properly, after all. It doesn’t take him long to prepare a sheet pan meal of roasted potatoes, vegetables, and chicken thighs, and once it’s in the oven, he spends a ridiculous amount of time getting himself ready. He showers, shaves, and re-dresses, selecting his outfit with careful consideration. Dean always liked him in blue, so he puts on a sapphire-coloured t-shirt with his dark, slim-fitting jeans and a charcoal sweater over top. Maybe his outfit won’t be the deciding factor in tonight’s outcome, but it can’t hurt to look nice.

His phone buzzes at 7:03. Dean is as prompt as ever. Cas pushes the button to let him into the building, then checks his hair in the bathroom mirror one last time. He doesn’t think he looks any different than he did three months ago, the last time he and Dean were in this apartment together. But so many other things have changed.

At Dean’s firm knock, he takes a deep breath and pulls open the door. Dean is wearing his leather jacket, the one Cas loves so much, left hanging open over a plain grey shirt and jeans. He’s shaved recently. Cas swallows back the hope that bubbles up in his chest at the knowledge that Dean put in extra effort with his appearance as well and says, “Come on in.”

“Glad to see Balthazar didn’t wreck the place,” Dean comments as he hangs up his jacket, unprompted. 

“He does have some sense of restraint.” 

Dean flashes Cas a small smile as he follows him into the kitchen. “Smells good in here. I have to say, I was surprised when you said you would cook. I mean, I know you can, but--”

But Dean usually did the cooking, between the two of them. A flood of memories rushes to Cas’ mind, evenings spent just like this, Dean in his kitchen singing along to the radio as Cas laughed at him and happily tasted every spoonful of whatever was being made.

Dean clears his throat. “Anyway. Smells good.”

“Thanks.” Cas waves him into a seat. “Would you like a beer?”

He made sure to stock up on Dean’s favourites. He can tell by the way Dean pauses as he accepts the bottle that he notices, though he doesn’t comment. It’s yet another reminder of the shared history between them, a sharp contrast to their neutral, polite conversation. 

Cas searches for something to say, something to ease the strange tension building in the room. They both know what they’re really here to talk about, but neither of them is willing to broach that subject quite yet. “So,” he says, fiddling with the label on his beer, “worked any good parties lately?”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Well, there was this one last week. Everything was going great on our end, and it was almost the end of the night, but then the power went out at the venue and everyone started freaking out--”

He still talks just as much with his body as with his voice. His eyes dance with amusement as he recounts the frantic scramble for candles, his hands flash through the air as he imitates the chest-clutching and arm-crossing of the more disturbed guests. He’s beautiful and vibrant and _here_ , and Cas never wants to be anywhere else but beside him. 

The story breaks some of the awkwardness between them, and then shortly thereafter, the timer on the oven goes off. Cas slides the pan out of the oven and preens inwardly at the way Dean’s eyes light up as he places a steaming plate in front of him.

“Cas, that looks great,” he says. “Have you been holding out on me this whole time?”

Cas laughs as he slides into his seat. “No,” he replies. “I picked up a few things, these past few months. No one else was really that interested in cooking, but we all needed to eat.”

Dean’s smile falters for a moment, and Cas curses inwardly. Even such a simple statement speaks to their long separation, to all that has yet to be discussed between them. He watches warily as Dean takes a bite of his food, then chews it slowly. “How are they doing?” he asks. 

Of course his concern for them outweighs the potential awkwardness of the question. Cas’ heart swells with affection for him, and he answers readily. “Much better now, I think. It was-- difficult, to put it mildly, but they’re both so strong, and they have each other. And a surprisingly good support system as well.”

“That’s good.” Dean nods, taking a sip of his beer. He puts it down, then picks it right back up again. “I mean, I sort of knew you wouldn’t leave if they were still having a really rough time, but--”

There’s no going back now, it seems. Dean has taken the plunge and though his statement is free of judgment, Cas feels the need to defend himself regardless. “They practically pushed me out the door,” he says tightly. 

“Cas.” Dean sighs, shaking his head. “I know. I’m not questioning your devotion to your family, believe me.” His mouth tightens. “I would know better than most how important they are to you.”

Cas had hoped to save this speech for later. Hoped they could pretend, just for a little while longer, that the past three months hadn’t happened, that Cas hadn’t made such a terrible mistake in cutting Dean out of his life. But Dean has steered the conversation here, and the last thing Cas wants to do is push him aside again. 

“They are important to me,” he says. He takes a sip of his beer, then raises his eyes to meet Dean’s. “But so are you.”

Dean pushes something around on his plate, not raising his fork. “I never asked you to put me first,” he says quietly. “I would never, Cas. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much. Because I understood why you had to leave, but I couldn’t understand why you couldn’t take me with you in any way.”

Cas has asked himself the same question, over and over again, and has never been able to come up with a satisfactory answer. “I thought it would be easier,” is all he has to offer, and he knows by the way Dean’s mouth tightens that it isn’t enough.

So he swallows heavily and adds, “I was so wrong.”

At that, Dean looks up. 

“I thought I wouldn’t be able to focus on Jimmy and Claire if I was thinking about you, or that they might feel I wasn’t giving them all of my attention, or even--” he hesitates, but this isn’t the time to hold anything back-- “or even that you and I might get frustrated at being apart, and that we would start fighting, and I couldn’t bear the thought of it. I figured a clean break would be simpler, for both of us.”

“It wasn’t for me.” Dean shakes his head, a small, helpless gesture that tells Cas everything he needs to know about how these past few months have been for Dean. “Was it for you?”

“No,” Cas admits. “It was awful.” He looks down again. “I missed you so much, Dean. Every second of every day.”

“Then why didn’t you listen to my message? Why didn’t you call me back?” Dean doesn’t sound angry anymore, just hurt. It’s far worse. His pain burrows inside Cas’ chest and lodges there, guilt tearing him to shreds. 

He takes a long minute to think before replying. “The short answer is that it surprised me,” he says eventually. “I told myself you were doing well without me, that you’d moved on, that you must not have been too affected if you didn’t try reaching out. But the instant I heard your voice, I knew I had been lying to make myself feel less guilty.”

Dean blinks at him, the golden sweep of his eyelashes illuminated by the bright light overhead. “And the long answer?”

Cas drains the last of his beer and sets it down with a jarring thud. “If I had listened to it, I would have broken. I would have called you back.”

“And that’s such a bad thing?”

“Yes.” Cas lets out a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “Because if I started talking to you, Dean, I would have poured out all my frustration, all my grief, all my confusion and my loneliness and my longing for you. You’ve always had a way of making me feel safe enough to just _feel/_ things, but--” He shakes his head. “It had already been so long. I didn’t think it was your responsibility to listen to me, to support me, after how I left you in the cold.”

Dean crosses his arms across his chest. “That’s bullshit,” he says flatly.

Cas frowns at him. “Excuse me?”

“It’s not about responsibility,” he says. “You didn’t go to Chicago because of a sense of _responsibility_ , Cas. You went because you love your brother and your niece. Just like all those times I watched out for Sam when we were growing up and Dad wasn’t around. Sure, he told me it was my job to look out for Sammy, but that wasn’t why I did it. I did it because I loved him.”

“I don’t understand--”

“I would have been so happy to hear your voice.” Dean has gone quiet, but no less intense for the lower volume of his voice. “I would have been so fucking happy, Cas, because I was always thinking about you, always worrying about you. And I would have listened to everything you had to say, not because it was my goddamned responsibility, but because I love you.”

Cas’ breath catches in his throat. He brushes the back of his hand across his cheek, holding back the tears he can feel starting to form behind his eyes. “Still?” he asks, his voice cracking on that single word.

Dean closes his eyes, then opens them again, brilliant and beautiful and stronger than Cas has ever been. “Still. I couldn’t stop loving you if I tried, Cas.”

It’s more than Cas could ever have hoped to hear. He doesn’t know what to do with Dean’s love, and maybe he never has. Maybe that’s been the problem all along. All he has to give back is his own, and he isn’t sure it’s enough.

But that isn’t his decision to make.

“The other day, at the coffee shop.” His voice is thick with emotion, and it’s difficult to speak under the burning intensity of Dean’s gaze, but he does his best. “You said I should ask you what it was that you wanted.” He takes a deep breath and spreads his hand in front of him on the table. “I’m asking you now, Dean. What do you want?”

There’s no hesitation, no delay, no consideration. “The same thing I’ve always wanted,” Dean says. “I just want you, Cas.”

Cas is up and out of his chair before he even realizes he’s moving, and Dean’s rising to his feet, his arms already opening to receive Cas. They’re pressed together from head to toe, no space left between them, and the tears that Cas has been holding back finally begin to fall as Dean’s arms close around him, warm and strong and familiar. He’s gripping the back of Dean’s shirt in one tight fist like he’s afraid of losing him again, and judging by the desperate words Dean is murmuring in his ear, he’s feeling the same way.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says, over and over and over again. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Dean shifts slightly so that Cas’ head is tucked under his chin, and Cas has never been more grateful for the few scant inches between them in height. “Just--” he swallows, the movement of his throat visible from this angle--”just tell me one thing. Are you planning to stay?”

Cas pulls back so he can meet Dean’s eyes as he answers. “Yes.” Relief flashes over Dean’s face as quickly and brilliantly as a bolt of lightning. “This isn’t just a visit, Dean. I’m coming home.”

“Good.” Dean raises a hand to cradle Cas’ face, and it trembles as he does. “Will you do something for me, then?”

“Anything.” It’s a rash, reckless thing to say, but Cas trusts Dean with his life, with his heart, with everything he is.

The small smile that curls up the corner of Dean’s mouth is a beautiful reward for that trust. “If you have to go to Chicago again, or even if you just want to-- will you let me go with you next time?”

Cas nods. “Yes. There’s nothing I would like more.”

Dean lets out a long breath. “Okay then.”

“Okay then,” Cas repeats. He and Dean stare at one another, the room thick with tension again, though of a very different kind. Dean is the first to break.

“Would you get over here and kiss me already?”

The words have barely left his mouth before it’s covered by Cas’ lips. Dean tastes like beer, like the dinner they left half-abandoned on their plates, but beneath that, there’s a familiarity to the kiss that thrills Cas more than any alcohol ever could. Something that strikes a chord deep within him and says _this is good, this is right_. His hands are at Dean’s waist, pulling him closer, feeling the warmth and solidity of his body under his hands. Dean lets out a breathless laugh and deepens his kiss, the filthy slide of his tongue causing Cas’ knees to weaken. 

He backs up so he’s pressed against the counter, grateful for its support, and pulls Dean even closer. There’s so little space between them that it’s impossible not to feel the press of Dean’s arousal against him, and a shiver runs through Cas at it, at the memories it conjures. He pulls his lips away from Dean’s with reluctance, trailing soft kisses down the side of his neck before he says, “Can we go to bed?”

Dean rests his forehead against Cas’ and doesn’t answer for a long moment. The rapid beat of his heart echoes between them, and Cas places his palm right in the centre of Dean’s chest, feeling it rise and fall with his breaths. 

Finally, Dean kisses him again, slower and softer and sweeter. Then he reaches down and takes Cas’ hand and leads him into the bedroom.

The moonlight spilling in from the window illuminates their newly-bared skin as they undress slowly, taking the time to re-learn each other’s bodies. Though he knows Dean has already forgiven him, Cas uses this opportunity to speak his apologies without words, with soft touches and gentle caresses instead. Dean is beautiful, inside and out, and his generosity never fails to humble Cas, to inspire the same in him. 

When they’re on the bed, naked, and Cas’ hand closes around Dean’s hard length, Dean lets out a hiss of pleasure, his entire body tensing. For a terrible second, Cas thinks he’s done something wrong, and then Dean looks over at him, sheepish. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “It’s just-- been a long time.”

“You didn’t--” Cas starts to ask, then stops himself. They weren’t together at the time. “It’s none of my business.” 

“Hey.” Dean shifts slightly closer, his breath warm against Cas’ cheek. “No. I didn’t. Despite the enthusiastic encouragement of some friends.”

Cas laughs softly at that. It isn’t hard to imagine. He kisses Dean again, then pulls away to smile down at him. “So what you’re telling me is that this is going to be over quickly for both of us.”

Dean smiles back at him, the look in his eyes confirming that he understood Cas’ meaning, that he knows it’s been just as long for Cas as it has for him. “The good news is,” he says, shifting his hips slightly so he presses more insistently into Cas’ hand, “we’ve got all night.”

“No.” Cas shakes his head, slowly resuming stroking him. “Much longer than that.”

The conversation falters after that. It’s not until they’re curled together, sweaty and sated and slightly sticky, that Dean rubs his cheek against Cas’ chest and says, “I was going to ask you to move in with me.”

Cas’ hand stills where it’s been running lightly through Dean’s hair. “Before--”

“Yeah.” Dean twists his head to look at him. “I was tired of going back and forth between our places all the time.”

“And now?” 

Dean shrugs, the movement pressing more of his body against Cas’, sparking a new shiver of desire in him. “I still want to. But I know things are a bit messy right now, and--”

He trails off, clearly waiting for Cas to jump in. It’s a big step. It would have been a big step even without the tumultuous past few months.

“Cas?” Dean raises himself up on his forearm, frowning down at him. “Are you--”

Cas presses a hand against his cheek, reassuring. “I’m just thinking about something Jimmy said to me,” he says quietly. 

“About moving in together?”

“Not exactly.” Cas replays the conversation in his mind, the night he found Jimmy going through all those old photo albums. “We were talking about when he and Amelia went through a rough patch, and how they made it work afterwards. I asked him how they did it, and he said they just loved each other better.” He runs his thumb lightly over the gorgeous line of Dean’s cheekbone. “Not more, or harder, but just better. I don’t think I understood what he meant then, but I do now.”

Dean’s eyes are intent on his, brilliant even in the dimly lit room. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Cas smiles up at him, watching the way an answering expression spreads across Dean’s face. “I gave up on us too easily before, Dean. I thought I was making it simple, but it never is simple. It’s hard work, but it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

“We’re worth it,” Dean corrects him. Then he laughs, turning his face away to hide it in the pillow. “Christ, what is this, a makeup ad campaign? Listen to us.” His laughter is muffled by the pillow, but his body shakes with it, rubbing against Cas’ in all sorts of interesting ways. 

Cas tugs the pillow away so he can see Dean’s face, laughing with him. “Yes, by the way.”

“What?”

“Yes, I want to move in with you.”

Dean’s laughter comes to a sudden stop, his eyes bright with hope. “Good,” he says softly, reaching out to catch Cas’ hand and place a kiss on his palm. “Then we’re finally on the same page.”

“We are.” Cas pulls him closer, and Dean settles his head back on Cas’ chest with a sigh of contentment. “It’s a good place to be.”


End file.
